


Volto Larva

by TreacleA



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Actual Murder, All The Permutations You Can Think Of, Anal Sex, BDSM themes, Blood and Torture, Bottom Hannibal, Bottom Will, Canon Typical Violence, Classical Music, Dom Hannibal, Dom Will, Gaslighting, If there's a word for that please tell me, Imagine How The Circles Of Hell Get Progressively More Intense, It's All A Bit Wordy, Lightweight Bondage, M/M, Mid-S1 Fic, Minor Canon-divergence, No It's Not An AU, POV Will Graham, Porn With A Sizeable Amount of Plot, Rough Sex, Simultaneous blowjobs, Sub Hannibal, Sub Will, Subplot of UST While Actual RST Happens, TW Homophobic behavior, TW: Descriptions of homophobic behaviour directed at a child, TW: Descriptions of non-sexual physical abuse of a child, That's Kind Of How This Is Going, Top Hannibal, Top Will, Will Graham Has Encephalitis, Will Graham Is Morally Ambiguous, basically canon compliant, tw homophobic slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-03-24 11:26:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13810218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TreacleA/pseuds/TreacleA
Summary: Will is having trouble unwinding after work. Hannibal helpfully suggests somewhere that may assist with that, with absolutely no ulterior motive whatsoever.





	1. Limbo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pastelgothshellder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelgothshellder/gifts).



 

 

 

* * *

When he paused and tried to think back, Will honestly had zero clue why he’d considered coming out alone that evening to be a good idea. After all, he’d never been someone who suffered from loneliness per se, and sometimes it seemed to him that the only people who had a problem with his solitary, hermitic lifestyle were those whose own could just as easily be described as hermetic and solitary. Beverly Katz, with her seemingly bottomless Netflix obsession and pathological aversion to dating anything but hockey players. Jack, whose entire social life seemed to revolve around a weekly poker night with three other equally gruff men and book club with his wife once a month. And Hannibal who, it often seemed to Will, was the ultimate in oxymorons: a socialite who - he suspected - generally disliked other members of society. All three of them had, at one time or another, suggested that Will “get out more”, “try and meet someone” or – in Hannibal’s case – “at least attempt to find a way to unplug his higher thinking, even for a few hours”.

“My higher thinking?”

Will’s eyebrows had lifted at that.

“I’m not sure what it is you think I do in my spare time Dr. Lecter, but I can assure you it doesn’t involve Sudoku puzzles and catching up on the latest developments in string theory.”

The corners of Hannibal’s mouth had drawn out in one of those peculiarly intimate smiles of his, that almost always drew an answering one from himself.

“I would never resort to such clichés Will, and I don't imagine for a minute that your personal interests are as prosaic as you would have me believe. Fly fishing and engine repair aside.”

Will’s grin is crooked. Scooting forward in his seat to better watch Hannibal's preparation of dinner, he rubs a hand across his stubbled chin.

“OK, ok. I get what you mean, and yes, switching off has historically been a problem for me. But I have managed to find a few solutions over the years.”  
  
“Solutions that work for you?”

It’s not really a question because Hannibal knows the answer, but he manages to shoehorn a semblance of enquiry into his voice anyway, to allow Will at least the impression that he isn’t entirely transparent. And Will shrugs, because sometimes he likes to pretend that too.

“Some of them. For a while anyway.”

“Meditation? Mindfulness? Self-Medication?” Hannibal punctuates each question mark with a twist of the corkscrew. Giving it a last turn, he uncorks the wine with a smooth flourish and a questioning tilt of the head, “Masturbation?”

The laugh that startles out of Will’s throat doesn’t even sound like his. Pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, he tries to remember the last time someone had asked him a question that made him this uncomfortable. Perhaps in eleventh grade when his dad had taken him for a suit fitting for junior prom, and the guy in the fitting room had asked him “what side he usually dressed on”.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he gives Hannibal the kind of look he normally reserves for crime scene techs on their first outing, and clears his throat pointedly.

“Are we really doing this now? I mean, when you asked me if I’d join you for dinner tonight I’m not sure I fully understood this was where the evening’s conversation would be heading.”

“My apologies Will. That was presumptuous of me.”

Hannibal draws his brows together in a study of contrition, but the smile tugging at the sides of his mouth is still there, and Will can feel his embarrassment receding like a tide. Taking the proffered glass of wine as a peace offering, he breathes out a laugh.

“It certainly was. At least wait until I’m sat in your office before springing questions like that on me.”

That was how the conversation had started anyway, quite how it had ended up where it did three or four hours later Will still wasn’t sure, but he suspected it had to do with the multiple nightcaps of thirty-year-old scotch he’d accepted before his departure. He remembered a discussion revolving around Baltimore’s social scene, the seedier parts of the city that he had assumed Hannibal would be less familiar with, and his surprise when he had admitted to having visited - “on occasion” - a few establishments Will would have considered beneath him. One strangely familiar name which came up in conversation - _Volto Larva_ \-  had seemed of more interest than the others to him, and on pressing him Hannibal had to admit to having frequented the place more than once in the past, when in pursuit of ‘more stimulating company’.

“What kind of place is it?”

“A…stimulating place.” Hannibal’s smile was warm but his eyes glittered darkly for a moment as he regarded Will over the rim of his glass, “I think maybe somewhere you might enjoy.”

More than anything else he’d said, Will’s curiosity had been piqued by what Hannibal seemed to be implying by ‘stimulating company’. He’d never considered his informal-therapist a sexual creature - the blank emotional slate he maintained during their sessions effectively obscuring all those parts - but looking at him now, skin lit golden by the crackling fire in the grate, Will felt a sudden stirring of interest. Hannibal’s style and aesthetically good looks were undeniable, but when he considered it he had never imagined that they were cultivated for anyone’s pleasure but his very own. The idea of Hannibal as a human being with a sex life, Hannibal using his body in anything other than the utilitarian pursuits he had witnessed him in, was a strangely compelling one. It was after all, as Will had privately admitted to himself as he followed Hannibal to the door that night, a particularly well-constructed and attractive body.

The seed of that conversation, sowed as it was by someone whose opinion Will had come to respect, had not germinated immediately but had laid quietly in his subconscious until this evening. It had been a long, dull morning teaching and a longer and duller afternoon grading papers and giving tutorials to a couple of his lowest academic achievers, and Will had found himself uncharacteristically edgy throughout all of it. His next appointment with Hannibal wasn’t until the following morning and, knowing that that conversation would very probably lead on from the last one, he felt a sudden determination to bring something to the session to convince his therapist – and by extension Jack – that he was finding healthier ways to unwind.

Throwing his laptop and papers into his bag, he ducked into the deserted men’s room to check his appearance. The shirt he was wearing was clean enough and, he liked to think, one of his more flatteringly cut ones, and although his hair looked in need of a trim he’d at least remembered to shave the straggling hairs of his beard this morning. Washing his hands and running damp fingers through his curls, Will smoothed the creases out of the front of the shirt and frowned. Clubs were still dark anyway, weren’t they? And people still got kind of drunk before they tried to hit on you?  And, he told himself silently, no-one had said he had to stay if he didn’t like it. He’d go in, maybe have one drink, see if any of the ‘stimulating people’ Hannibal had found there were in evidence, and file the information away for a second attempt later in the year. Maybe when he’d managed to get a little more sun, and didn’t look as if he spent seven hours of every week day in a darkened lecture theatre.

He found the place easily enough, although if he hadn’t known the name he would never have guessed that the subtly lit sign in the tiny backstreet led to a nightclub. If anything, he might have guessed an exclusive restaurant or jazz bar, but pushing open the door and stepping into the small foyer Will was reassured by the unmistakable thrub-thrub of club music leaking through the very solid looking wooden doors ahead of him. To his right, a small reception hatch slid open and an extremely photogenic young man flashed him a bright warm smile.

“Hey there cutie, can I swipe your card?”

A reply caught in Will’s throat as he felt blood flush warmly up his throat to his cheeks. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time a beautiful young guy has referred to him as ‘cutie’, but he had to admit it had probably been a while, definitely not during the current century anyway. Opening his mouth, he had to shut it again a couple of times before he trusted himself to speak.

“I…sorry. A friend told me about this place, he didn’t mention it was a member’s only club.” He already had a hand on the door before he’d finished the sentence, “Sorry. My mistake.”

“Whoa there sweet thing, slow down a second ok!”

The guy’s smile had widened a fraction more. Opening a file on the counter beside him he fixed him with a bold stare that started at Will’s eyes and travelled down his body and up to his face again in one quick, openly appreciative movement.

“How about you tell me the name of your friend, and I’ll see if he’s one of our gold members. If he is, I can check you through as his guest tonight, that sound ok?”

Will nodded, not trusting himself to say anything else that might change the look of appreciation he was being directed, and then remembered that he had to.

“Oh…Hannibal Lecter. Sorry. His name is Hannibal Lecter.”

“Oh well Jesus,” with an exasperated sigh the young man, flipped the cover of the file closed and gave his head a tiny shake, “If you’d just said that when you’d come through the door I’d have just buzzed you right through.”

Pressing a button under the lip of the counter, he angled his head at the pair of doors, and gave Will a smirk that bordered on salacious. 

“Step through beautiful. You can check your jacket in the mask room just inside.”

“The…?”

“Mask room.” The tip of his tongue poked out through parted teeth to touch his top lip with amusement, “Oh lord, he really _didn't_ tell you anything did he?”

Once he was inside the first set of double doors the music was a lot louder, but still not so loud Will couldn’t hear the young blond girl asking him what ‘kind of mask he’d prefer’. Shaking his head in confusion, Will couldn’t help but wonder if in fact Hannibal was having some kind of joke at his expense and that tomorrow he’d walk into his session to find him convulsed with laughter behind his desk. He thought it, and then just as quickly dismissed it, because if there was one thing he understood about Hannibal it was that joking was not generally part of his therapeutic process.

“What…uh…kinds are there?”

Smiling prettily, the girl lifted two up to show him,

“Half face, full face. Then you have these ones over here that cover your whole head and neck. And there are also these ones with the ribbons, they’re my favourite, or we have ones with the silk hair attached, they’re kind of gorgeous too.”

“And what…” Will drew a breath, guessing that he would probably regret asking the question, “And what exactly is the purpose of the masks? In this context I mean?”

Cocking her head at him, the blond laughed, “The purpose? Is fun, I guess? In the context of you know…having some?”

All the masks had the same look to them, like something from a Venetian Carnivale and with a sudden dawning realisation Will remembered where he’d heard the name “Volto Larva” before. Art History Class in 11th Grade with Mrs. Ravanelli, and her seemingly unquenchable passion for the ‘romance and pageantry of the Italian Rennaissance period’. 

“Uh… the half-face I guess?”

Reluctantly Will held out a hand, only to be gently but insistently turned to face the ornate mirror hanging on the wall behind them both. Placing the mask over his eyes, the girl tied the ribbons in a bow at the back of skull, and smoothed a hand softly over the curls that spilled over it. Nodding, she gave him a smile of satisfaction.

“Yep. That’s the one alright.”

Looking at his reflection, Will felt a fluttering in his stomach halfway between embarrassed nerves and excitement. With the mask covering the whole top half of his face, sitting just above his mouth, he hardly recognised himself. Tucking the dark red shirt he was wearing into his jeans, he frowned slightly at the effect in conjunction with the beautiful gilded thing and, as if reading his mind, his assistant laid a gentle hand on his forearm.

“Just stay _right_ there.”

Will wanted to say that he looked ridiculous after she’d finally finished with him, but the truth was – although it wasn’t something he would ever admit aloud to anyone - he actually thought he looked hot as hell. And judging by the way the blond was looking at him appreciatively from every angle, he wasn’t the only one.

“Seriously, you could model you know? Have you ever considered it?”

The flush that had started on Will’s neck now crept all the way up from the opening of the ridiculously romantic linen shirt she’d put him in into his cheeks. Stuffing the hem of it into the leather pants, he inclined his head at the man in the mirror. The flowing romantic clothes, the half hidden face, nothing looked like the Will Graham he or anyone else he knew was used to seeing. The unassuming exterior he’d carefully cultivated for the last two decades was gone, and in its place was an entirely unrecognisable but undoubtedly attractive man.

Chewing on her bottom lip, the girl walked around him admiringly for a third time.

“You know, you have _amazing_ bone structure.”

“In my ass?” he couldn't resist saying, but a response that had felt kind of snippy in his head somehow came out as flirty and they both laughed, and this time he noticed she was the one blushing. Pushing a hand back through his hair, he took a last deep unsteady breath before walking to the door.

“Well, wish me luck.”

Stepping down into the interior of the club and looking around, Will could feel his pulse immediately begin to race. To say the décor was kind of wild was an understatement. The whole place was built into what appeared to be an old vaulted wine cellar, and archways and darkened alcoves everywhere were lit with deep reds and purples and hung with heavy velvet drapes. The central bar was lit with hundreds of candles in heavy candelabra, dripping hot wax onto the wooden surface and, making his way to it as casually as leather pants allowed, Will leant against it and made eye contact with the barman.

“I’ll have a double bourbon. Straight. No ice.”

Even to his ears, his voice sounded confident, maybe even kind of arrogant. Something about the way the guy’s attention had snapped to his body instead of his face as a result of the mask gave him an odd feeling of power. His anxious avoidance of people’s eyes, and the reaction most had to that, negatively affected every encounter he had these days and made casual flirtation almost impossible. Now, with all but his eyes and mouth obscured, Will found himself looking around the room without a trace of his usual self-consciousness while everyone around him did just the same. The feeling of safety that had been created by the costume was both exhilarating and exciting.

Taking his drink with a silent nod of thanks, Will let his gaze drift further. On the other side of the room a series of rooms led off from the central dance floor, each one hidden behind a heavy door carved with what looked like medieval monsters. Leaning back towards his attentive barman, he gestured towards them with the hand that wasn’t holding the drink.

“What's through there?”

“Those are the playrooms,” reaching into a wooden box on the bar, the guy took out an ornate gold coin and showed it to him, “This your first visit?" 

“Mm hmm.”

“Then first entry is free,” sliding the coin across the bar surface towards Will, he smiled, “Go choose your poison.”

Picking up the coin, Will turned it in his palm. On one side it showed the logo of the club, and on the other the face of a smiling horned figure, partially clothed in grapevines.

“And how do I choose, if I don't know what’s in there?”

Grinning at him, the barman gave a small shrug, “Trial and error I guess? It’s all part of the fun.”

It wasn’t until Will approached the first of the doors that he realised each had a different design. The first featured a huge, muscled man with tiny figures wrapped in his snake limbs, the second a huge three-headed dog hungrily devouring the same small people. Frowning with amusement, Will didn't need to look further to figure out the theme. Eight doors featuring the last eight circles of Hell, the first circle – Limbo – presumably represented by the club itself. Glancing around the room behind him, he gave a small wry laugh.

“So what? We’re the virtuous pagans?” 

“Until you step through that door, yes.”

The voice at his shoulder was immediately familiar, so much so Will barely startled. Without even turning in his direction to acknowledge his presence, he took a sip from his drink. 

“So I choose the second circle if I fancy allowing myself to be overcome with lust? What about the third? Gluttony? Is there whipped cream involved?”

He could feel Hannibal’s amusement radiating from him, and stealing a glance sideways his breath stilled in his throat at the sight of him. Dressed simply in a black silk shirt, loosely open at his clavicle, he wore a matching black mask, simple and severe, from whose depths his deep golden-brown eyes glowed. Falling forward over his brow, his silver-blond hair looked far softer and looser than it normally did, and Will fought a sudden impulse to lift a hand and smooth it back from his forehead to its usual place. Instead, he took another gulp of his bourbon and turned back towards the doors.

“So which one would you recommend?”

“You’re assuming I’ve tried them all?”

“Of course. Why wouldn't you?”

A breathed laugh, and Hannibal stepped closer to him. Will felt his pulse elevate slightly as he realised that the other man was now very deliberately breaking their long held, unspoken rule regarding proximity. Hannibal’s breath was warm and soft, moving the fine hairs at the base of his neck under his mastoid bone, his lips millimetres from Will’s skin. 

“You don’t know anything about me...”

Will’s eyes flicked sideways, and the warm glowing amber of Hannibal’s gaze held his.

“…and I don’t know anything about you.”

The curve of his lips was sweetly, achingly familiar and Will found his eyes drawn to them. As Hannibal’s tongue dipped out to moisten them, they parted slightly in a smile that showed the pointed tips of canine teeth and stirred a delicious warmth in the pit of Will’s stomach. Softly and carefully, so as not to spoil the game they had now silently agreed upon, he replied.

“You’re right. I apologise. I don’t know you.”

Switching the glass with his drink in to his left hand, he stretched the other one out towards him from his hip. Loose and open, fingers splayed wide.

“I didn’t even introduce myself. Hi. I’m Virgil.”

“Virgil?” 

Hannibal’s smile widened a fraction, and glancing down at his open palm for a long moment, he raised his eyebrows before curling his own long, warm fingers around it.  
  
“Then I imagine that makes me Danté.”


	2. Lust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will spends some quality time around the warm bodied and Hannibal gets his rocks off.
> 
> _TW: Descriptions of homophobic behaviour from a parent directed at a child, allusions to non-sexual physical abuse from a male parent._

Will’s father had never been much of a church goer as an adult, but there was a period of time – roughly around when Will had first started to show signs of hitting puberty – that the subjects of his dad’s conversations had begun to draw from the strict religious upbringing he’d been subject to as a kid. Will could still remember vividly how his face had looked the first time he had touched upon the subject of ‘sin’ with him. Coloured a deep unnatural red from the roots of his hair to his jawline, his eyes had been cast down at the threadbare carpet of Will’s bedroom as he had spoken to him. It was at bedtime, and although he had long been too old for stories, that night his dad had insisted on tucking him into the covers the way he had when he was younger, and seating himself on the side of the bed with one hand resting on Will’s hip. 

“Now you’re getting older kiddo, I guess maybe there’s some stuff that really needs to be said about...the things you’ve been…starting to feel lately. And maybe do.”

Clearing his throat awkwardly, his dad had seemed unable to look at him, and Will’s heart had begun to race with apprehension at what he was about to say. Had his dad discovered the fires he’d been setting in the woods on the way home from school? Or the tiger-trap he and Bill Sullivan had dug in Bill’s grandma’s backyard and covered with branches? His dad hadn’t given him a beating for anything for years and it didn't seem like he was mad enough now, but Will still remembered the last time his father had taken his belt off to him as if it was yesterday and a faint sweat broke out on his neck at the thought. 

“I guess I was around your same age as you when I started having…thoughts about…things that I guess…I’d never thought about before. Confusing things about other people, neighbours, school friends and such, that made me feel, well…strange and kind of…stirred up. You know what I’m talking about Willy?”

Cold saliva had filled Will’s mouth, and he started to shake his head, “No daddy. No…” even though his heart was now galloping at what felt like a million miles an hour.

His father’s face had furrowed in a deep frown, the hand on his hip gripping harder, even hurting a little.

“Oh c’mon now Willy, now you’re just playing dumb.” His eyes had fixed on him, knowing, accusing, “You thought I wouldn't find them? C’mon boy, this ain’t a big place. It’s not like you even hid them too well, though I told you before not to play out in that old pig pen.” 

Will’s head had continued to shake, his eyes wide, because now he really didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.

“Hid what daddy? I didn't hide anything!”

Hissing a harsh breath out between his teeth, his father got to his feet and stalked from the room, returning a few seconds later holding a handful of old torn magazines. Throwing them down on the bed sheets beside him, he fixed him with an angry, red-faced stare.

“You know, if there’s only one thing I hate worse than a goddamn pervert Willy, it’s a bare-faced goddamn liar.” 

Gesturing to the pile of paper, he gave his head disbelieving shake. 

“I honestly have no damn idea where you’d even _find_ something like this around here? I mean, who got you these things? Was it that Billy Sullivan’s brother, always hanging around with the bikers round the back of the diner on Saturday nights?”

His voice was rising in pitch along with the colour of his face. Stepping closer, he stared at him with a pained expression. 

“Did he…has he touched you Willy? Has that boy done anything to you he shouldn’t?” His eyes moved to the magazines and away again as if he couldn’t even bear to look at them, “Good lord above boy, please tell me he hasn't done anything to you.”

Will’s breath stuttered in his throat, his eyes jumping from his father’s face to the photographs in front of him. It took him a moment or two to realise what he was seeing, and when he did it seemed like his mouth has suddenly gotten drier than the Sahara.

The pictures were all of naked men. Men with their arms and legs wrapped around each other, men with their lips on each other, men stretched into all kinds of weird and frankly pretty goddamn athletic positions with each other, and all of them had the biggest dicks Will had ever seen in his entire life. Staring at them in amazement, he felt his eyes getting wider and wider, while his brain slipped into a kind of oily neutral, and without thinking he reached for the nearest magazine to turn it the right way round.

“God _DAMN IT_ boy!”

And then his daddy’s hand was wrapped around the meat of his forearm, dragging him out of his warm soft bed onto the floor, while his other hand was unbuckling the belt from the waist of his trousers. 

“Goddamn it Willy, I wish to GOD you hadn’t made me do this, but there’s no damn way I’m letting any son of mine go off down this road. Even if I have to beat the goddamn sin right out of you with my own damn belt!”

It had taken just over two weeks for the marks on his back to fade, the pain only a day or so, but the tight heavy feeling in his chest that he later learned to identify as shame lasted much longer. And afterwards it seemed like his dad was always watching him whenever they were out together, anywhere where there was a possibility of him spending time alone with other boys. It wasn’t until Will was thirteen and Jessi Hardwell had come calling for him one Sunday afternoon to go swimming at a well-known local make-out spot, that he’d finally seems to relax a little. He’d even smiled crookedly when Will had returned later than his curfew, despite his dinner being spoiled.  
  
“She’s a peach that little Hardwell girl, ain’t she? Just chock full of sunshine and juice.”  
  
And Will had nodded and grinned in return, like he’d agreed with him wholeheartedly when in fact he found little Jessi Hardwell as dull as ditch water. Her tall golden-eyed brother Kyle, on the other hand, was a whole different matter. 

Will wasn’t sure what he had been expecting to find inside a room devoted to the glorification of lust, but that the memory of those tattered magazines had immediately swum back into his awareness as he pushed open the door had given him some kind of clue. Not that he wasn’t interested in seeing women’s bodies inside, just for some reason they always seemed to recede into the background for him when there was a choice between the two. Maybe though, he told himself, that was more about how rarely he saw other (living) male bodies these days, rather than about a lesser attraction to women. Because, despite anything his daddy or one or two male lovers had suggested, he had never considered his sexuality anything other entirely fluid. Much like his imagination, it seemed to defy the boundaries so-called ‘normal people’ insisted on applying.

Bathed in predominantly red light, the Lust room was dimly lit with strobes which pulsed in counterpoint to the thumping music that filled every crack and crevice between people. As Hannibal made his way ahead of him, Will marvelled silently at the graceful assured way he moved between the writhing bodies, seeming every bit as at home surrounded by the deafening sound of club music as he was with the Goldberg Variations. Heading towards the back of the room, he appeared oblivious to everyone around him, although it seemed to Will as if every purposeful turn of his body through the crowd cut a deliberate path for him to follow. 

Reaching a small clearing in the throng he saw Hannibal pause, bending slightly at the waist to speak to someone Will couldn't see seated against the wall and then, with maybe just the slightest flicker of a look in his direction, he moved out of sight. Several people were blocking Will’s view and with a touch of impatience he shouldered past them only to find, standing where Hannibal had been, two slim silver-blond young women, identically dressed in the attire of young Italian noblemen. Leaning forward towards him, they each spoke into one of his ears, their voices perfectly synchronized.

_“Your friend said you should come with us.”_

A slim-fingered hand slipped into each one of his and Will found himself tugged forward, resisting only very slightly, behind them. At the back of the chamber the room divided off into several small dark alcoves, the walls clad with a facsimile of rough, crumbling ivy-clad stone and he was reminded of the networks of catacombs beneath old European cemeteries.  Only within these individual tombs, bodies that were very much alive could be seen, and Will’s lips parted as he glimpsed the sight of several women through the gap in a set of drapes, semi-naked flesh and lips sliding against each other as they lay impossibly entwined in each other’s arms. 

“Where are you taking me?” he asked, but the tone of his voice was soft and amused even to his own ears, he didn't even care about the answer.

Although it didn't seem as if she was responding to his question, the girl on his left suddenly paused at a set of heavy purple drapes, and pulled them slightly aside. Inside, the small room was decorated with what seemed like hundreds of different sized mirrors and tiny glowing lights that flickered like candles, and a warm, sweet scented mist hung in the arm. Turning his body gently, the right hand girl pushed him firmly back onto a velvet chaise longue, while the left hand one turned briefly to the side to adjust some hidden control. The mist that wreathed through the air increased, and Will felt his head start to spin a little. Somewhere in the back of his brain, a familiar, slightly anxious voice told him to hold his breath, that he had no idea what he was taking into his body, but then another one – one that didn't sound like his own - said something softly and firmly about learning to let go occasionally. Taking a deep breath, he felt a pleasant kind of tingling warmth spread through his body.

“What’s in the mist?”  
  
“Just something to…”

“…relax you a little.”

One girl spoke and the other finished her sentence. Standing either side of him, they smiled, and then with perfectly synchronised movements started to unlace his shirt and trousers.

_“You’re so beautiful.”_

The voice seemed to come from one or both of them, their fingernails trailing spirals across his chest and abdomen, and Will breathed out an astonished laugh as both their fair heads bowed to his chest. Pointed tongues circled his nipples, sending a spark of pure sensation crackling out across the surface of his skin like electricity seeking an earth, and his cock pulsed into sudden vibrant life. A hand slid beneath the waistband of his pants, followed by another and throwing his head back against the pillows, Will stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, feeling a smile slowly spreading across his face.

It took him a hazy moment or two of staring upwards to realise that the mirror hung above the chaise did not reflect the view of himself from below as the ones either side did, but instead was angled to reflect the room immediately next door. And, focusing on the sight in amazement, it took Will a few longer to realise exactly what it was he was seeing. Stretched out on a chaise identical to the one he lay on, Hannibal lay on his back, arms flung out to the side and the black shirt he had been wearing pulled up to his clavicle. The expanse of his broad muscular chest was exposed, the warm gold of the skin covered with a mass of soft grey-brown hair that – until that moment – Will hadn’t even known existed. Lazily reaching down with one hand, the other tucked behind his head in a relaxed pose, his long slim fingers unlaced the fly of his trousers and then gestured to someone Will couldn't see.

Two hands appeared, resting on Hannibal’s thighs, and Will’s breath quickened as he felt the exact same touch mirrored on his own body by his companions. Their voices were soft, murmuring little sounds of passionate admiration to each other, but rather than turn his attention to them, Will found his gaze riveted by the scene unfolding in the mirror. As he watched, a figure came into view, ambiguous in gender but wearing the same cream linen shirt and dark brown pants he was wearing himself. The figure’s face was obscured, but from the side he could see the mask was also a perfect match, as was the dark curling hair. The hands moved to Hannibal’s waistband, tugging downwards, and Will breath caught in his throat as he realised what was about to happen. The soft flat plane of Hannibal’s pelvis angled down into a dark V of pubic hair and, as the hands tugged harder, his stiffly erect cock came into view between the laces, the arch of it lifting the head slightly from the flesh of his belly as his companion pulled it free.

“Oh _fuck_ …”

The sound escaped Will’s lips completely unbidden, and he closed his eyes for a moment with a deep shuddering breath. The red circling pool of warmth that had been sitting in the centre of his body raced like wildfire down his chest and buried itself deep in his groin, and he was suddenly almost painfully hard. Either side of hips he was dimly aware of movement and, looking down for a moment, he found his two companions pressed either side of his erection with their eyes sparkling. Glancing upwards, the one on his left, grinned mischievously at the scene in the mirror, while her friend bent down to gently brush lips along his exposed length. She laughed, and her breath tickled against his pubic hair. 

“It’s kind of like one of those 4D cinema experiences…”

“….You just need to keep your eye on the screen.” 

A soft, hot mouth traced the skin around the head of his cock, and Will’s eyes snapped back to the scene overhead. Hannibal bright amber-gold gaze was now seemingly fixed on him, his lips parted and moist, as the figure kneeling between his thighs lowered their head to his open fly. Reaching downwards, Hannibal’s fingers tangled deeply in the soft dark curls so like Will’s own and lifting his chin, he arched to push himself roughly into the unseen mouth. The sound Will made as he felt himself simultaneously engulfed, rocked him from the pit of his stomach to the top of his head.

Over his head, Hannibal’s throat moved, swallowing and constricting as the dark head bobbed between his thighs, the muscles in his forearms cording as he gripped at the other man's shoulders. Reaching for Will’s own hand, one of his two companions threaded his fingers through her silky hair, breathing a laugh against his skin. Letting the strands slide between them, Will groaned as he saw Hannibal do the same, and suddenly the overload of sensation overwhelmed him. Hannibal’s cheeks flushed with blood, his silver blond hair sticking damply to his cheeks as his smile widened in seeming acknowledgement of Will’s heightening state of arousal. Arching his back, he bit down on his lower lip, gripping the base of his partner’s skull with wide stretched fingers.

Feeling his own orgasm fast approaching, Will’s pupils dilated, his mouth falling open as he realised that Hannibal’s movements had synchronised perfectly with his own, his lips silently forming words he couldn’t hear. The sounds coming from his own chest were completely involuntary now, deep rolling groans that crested with every answering noise from the next room, and with each breath outwards he felt himself arch towards the face in the mirror, his fingertips mutely describing the shape of Hannibal's face, his shoulders and arms, his nails digging into the perfect hollows of his hipbones as they ground against the figure that looked so like him. But it was only when he finally recognised the shape of the name Hannibal’s lips were forming as he came, that he came himself, so fucking hard that he saw stars explode behind his eyelids.

 

∞

  

It was 9.45 am when Will arrived for his 10 am appointment the following day, and unwilling or unable to take a seat, he stood in the centre of the waiting room. Although his shirt was clean on that morning, it already felt as if it was sticking to his body, a sheen of sweat covering his lower back and pectoral muscles, sending tiny rivulets running down his torso to gather in his pubic hair. Scratching at the skin of his forearm, he berated himself silently yet again for the decision that had led to the predicament he now found himself in. Officially or not, Hannibal was his therapist, and what they’d done last night was so far outside the bounds of what Jack would deem professional conduct, he didn’t even want to imagine what he would do to them both if he ever found out.

Frowning, Will rubbed the palms of his hands on his thighs, and took a tentative step towards the exit. In truth, he wasn’t even sure if turning up for his usual appointment had been the right thing to do. Perhaps just a formally worded email, telling Hannibal that in light of what had happened the night before he’d need to find himself a new therapist. That, he decided, would be the most professional and – in the long term – the least problematic way to handle what had obviously been a lapse in judgement on both their parts.

Before he could turn the handle and make his escape though, the door to Hannibal’s office opened abruptly. 

“Will! You’re early!”

Hannibal’s expression was the exact same warm, welcoming one he wore every time he greeted him, without a trace of surprise or even mild embarrassment. Dressed in a sharply cut suit of peacock blue, complimented with a deep red paisley tie, he looked as alert and perfectly rested as he always did which, when Will considered it, made less than no sense. It had been at least 3 am when he’d left the club, and as far as he could tell Hannibal had still been there. Even allowing for four hours of solid sleep, there was still no way that a man almost ten years his senior should look this good when he looked and felt so damned crappy. 

“How do you do it?”

The words fell out of his mouth before he’d even thought about them, and stepping aside to let him enter, Hannibal quirked an eyebrow in reply. 

“How do I do what?”

Moving to the desk, he poured from a pitcher of water and handed Will a glass as he bent to sit down. 

“How do you manage to look so good first thing like this?” Will sipped from his water, shaking his head with incredulity, “What time was your first appointment? 8am? I had to lever myself out of bed with a spatula this morning at 8.30. I could barely focus on the road on the way here." 

Pressing his lips together, Hannibal took his seat. For a moment or two he genuinely appeared to be considering Will’s question.

“Well, I imagine I need a little less sleep than most people, I trained myself to sleep deeply for short periods while I was on surgical rotation. But frankly I’m of an age now where the old adage ‘early to bed early to rise’ is more than just a dull platitude,” his smile warmed, eyebrows drawing together, “I’m sorry to spoil any idealised image you might have of me as a tireless socialite Will, but most evenings I’m usually in bed before 10pm with a good book.”

Sitting back in his chair, Hannibal poured himself a glass of water too, and reached to straighten his tie.

“Last night was rather an unusual one for me, it has to be said, but I have been known to break my habits on special occasions, even though it sometimes means I’m a little less bright-eyed and bushy tailed first thing,” taking a sip from his glass, he raised his eyebrows questioningly at him, “And, after all, how often is it someone of Ms Netrebko’s talent graces our fair city with her presence?”

Confused, Will felt himself blink several times before he answered.

“Ms Netrebko?”

Hannibal’s eyebrows lifted higher, “Anna Netrebko? The Russian soprano? She was a last minute addition to the programme at the Lyric last night? I’m sorry Will, we seem to be talking at cross purposes. I thought Jack must have told you that I had offered everyone tickets?”

A breath released itself from Will’s lips, and he felt himself still in his seat. The wide band of tension that had formed across his chest an hour or so before, suddenly felt impossibly tight. Placing his glass down on the table beside him, he looked into Hannibal’s eyes. The same bright, golden-brown eyes that had stared into his own less than eight hours before, as he’d come harder than he’d ever done in his entire life.

“So you're saying you were at the Opera last night?”

“I was.”

“All evening?” 

“All evening.” 

“Watching...a famous Russian soprano?”

“Ms Anna Yuryevna Netrebko. Yes.”

“Alone?' 

Hannibal’s mouth quirked downwards, and he gave a small desultory nod.

“Sadly. Alone, yes.”

Setting his glass on his own side table, he crossed his legs in an exact mirror image of Will’s own.

“I very much wish you could have been there though, Will. Although I can still enjoy an incredible performance on my own, it adds so much more to the experience to have someone whose company you value share it with their own eyes, don't you think?”


	3. Gluttony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is hungry, Hannibal is rude, and no-one gets exactly what they want for dinner.

Since his informal therapy sessions had first begun with him at the start of the year, it wasn’t unusual for Will to be invited to dinner at Hannibal’s house more than once a month, but twice within two weeks – as far as he could remember - was virtually unheard of.

Parking his car alongside the sidewalk outside Hannibal’s home, Will turned off the engine and sat silently in his seat for a while, letting his scattered thoughts try to order themselves. Ever since the evening he’d spent at ‘Volto Larva’ a week ago, he’d found himself drifting back to the events that had occurred there with increasing, even sometimes embarrassing, frequency. More than one person had noted how distracted he’d seemed and, although none of his students had complained, he was fairly sure he had been dialling in his lectures at the academy all week. During a discussion of one particularly ambiguous killing, he’d briefly found himself transfixed by a crime scene image of the male victim’s carelessly unbuttoned jeans and underwear, and had fallen completely silent in front of his class for more than a minute.

“So what are you saying? That he was assaulted sexually first?”  
  
A student’s voice has finally broken into his reverie from the darkness, and coming back to himself Will had silently shaken his head without turning.

“No. Look at how the fly’s been unbuttoned, the underwear. This wasn’t a violent assault. This was slow. Methodical. He took his time, he enjoyed himself,” his voice grew softer, “They both did.”

It wasn't the first time he’d completely weirded his students out with one of softly spoken observations, but it was perhaps the very first time he’d thoroughly weirded himself out.

His therapy session with Hannibal that morning – the second since the club - had been largely concerned with his continued inability to sleep and the finer details of his daily routine, and in fact became so dull at one point he couldn't help feeling Hannibal was deliberately trying to provoke him into some kind of outburst. Irritable, but unwilling to share the reasons for it, Will had virtually sprinted towards the door at the end of the hour, only to be artfully but firmly blocked by Hannibal’s body.

“I have a sense that your mind was elsewhere today Will. Would I be impertinent in suggesting an epilogue to our session, in the hope that we might resolve some of the issues we’ve been circling this morning?”

“An epilogue?”

Will could hear the edge of sharpness in his own tone, which meant of course that Hannibal could hear it a thousand fold. Taking a breath, he glanced down at his shoes and frowned. 

“Sorry. You’re right. I don’t think I’ve been…quite here today.”

Hannibal’s voice was warm but wry, “Well, might it be possible to locate yourself before this evening, in order to join me for dinner? Say around 7pm?”

Lifting his chin, Will gave him a small terse nod.  

“Of course,” and then the ghost of a smile, “And thank you for your persistence. I hope I’ll be in a better mood to talk by then.”

Stepping out of his car now, Will tucked the tail of his shirt into his jeans and brushed the stray dog hairs from the sleeve of his coat as he approached Hannibal’s door. As he pushed the bell he wondered if he maybe he should have thought to bring wine, but just as quickly he banished the thought from his mind. Hannibal patently had an extensive cellar and expensive tastes, and anyway providing him with something suitable to accompany whatever tonight’s meal was a task he was ill equipped for.

As it happened though, he needed have concerned himself. When Hannibal finally opened the door the expression of contrition and anxiety on his face made it plain that their plans for the evening were not to be as straight forward as he had hoped.

“Will, my deepest apologies. I tried to call you earlier but your cell phone went straight to voicemail. I’m afraid I have to cancel our dinner plans. A long-time client of mine has been involved in a serious incident in Hagerstown, and the local police have asked me if I might provide him with some emotional support during their questioning.”

Hannibal sighed, seeming uncharacteristically flustered. His gloves were on and he was already pulling on his coat.

“Normally I would have refused such a request, but having spoken to him I’ve become quite concerned for his wellbeing, he’s refused a solicitor and may well be suffering a psychotic break.” 

Making the standard reassuring noises, Will stepped back from the door. The faint smell of something delicious drifted to his nose from inside the house, and he felt his stomach rumble in protest. As was his normal practise when dining with Hannibal, he’s hadn’t eaten all day in preparation for overindulging himself. 

“It’s fine. Don't worry about it, honestly.”

“I’m so sorry Will. This really is inexcusable of me. And if I didn't have to leave immediately I could have at least invited you in and made you a plate up to take home…” he was closing the door behind him, “I can only promise to make it up to you as soon as I’m able. Perhaps Sunday?”

Calling his acceptance to his retreating back, Will watched somewhat dejectedly as Hannibal climbed into his Bentley and swiftly pulled away from the kerb. The drive back to Wolf Trap was well over an hour, and he’d already fed the dogs and walked them earlier, having planned to be out until the small hours. Now he was faced with the rather disheartening prospect of a long drive home, and yet another evening spent alone with them, eating microwave mac & cheese while Buster chased imaginary fleas across his butt. Sighing, he toed the sidewalk at his feet before realising that he did have another choice. There was no reason he couldn't stay in the city and have dinner somewhere and then, if he felt like it, seek out some _non-canine_ company at ‘Volto Larva’ again for a few hours. Maybe he might even consider venturing into another one of the rooms to see what other stimulating activities might be on offer. Although, he told himself as he started his engine again, they would have to be pretty spectacular to top the last time.

Parking his car a few blocks away from the club, he walked quickly along the backstreets telling himself he would grab a hamburger somewhere on his way, but as he neared the alleyway containing the dimly lit neon sign he had to admit that - despite the ache – the empty hollow in his belly just didn't seem as urgent as his need to be inside.

Stepping through the door, he paused at the hatch with his wallet open, only to waved through by his admiring doorman.

“It’s OK. You’ve been officially sponsored.”  
  
Holding out a gold swipe card, he raised one eyebrow at him suggestively,  
  
“And if you ever feel like telling me how I go about finding myself someone with that kind of sway, you’ll let me know won’t you? I haven’t had a raise here in 2 years.”

There was a different assistant in the mask room, and the experience of choosing a mask and costume was notably different from the last time as well. Stepping to one side to allow him to view the entire selection, the dark haired young man dropped his eyes to the floor with a deferential smile, and taking his cue, Will stepped forward purposefully and took the down the same mask as before from the shelf. From the rail of costumes, he selected another cream coloured shirt, although this time a heavier silk fabric, and the same close-fitting leather pants as before. Reaching inside them to adjust himself, he realised with a stir of surprise that he was already half-hard. Just the smell of the place seemed to be enough now to get his blood flowing.

The main room of club was almost as full as last time, and slipping his way through the bodies, Will found himself wondering where all these people came from. Dressed in their costumes it was hard to tell what their occupations or backgrounds might be, hell it was hard to tell their _genders_ , but he had a sense that, despite being an exclusive venue, the clientele were a diverse crowd. The range of body shapes and skin colours was as wide as that of a music festival, and the atmosphere wasn’t that dissimilar either. Showing his card at the bar, he was handed another coin without even having to ask and, bemused but now thoroughly enjoying himself, he leant on the bar for a few minutes before slowly making his way over the the playrooms.

Standing at the entrance to the second room, he paused with his hand resting on the surface. There was no rule that said he had to make his way through them in numerical order, but something about the way Hannibal had replied when he asked him – ‘you’re assuming I’ve tried them all?’ – made him think there was a right and a wrong way to play this game.

Pushing the door inwards, he stepped into the room. In contrast to the first one, the lighting in this chamber was soft and dim, instead of pulsing strobes five ornate candelabra hung from the vaulted ceiling, each holding a vast array of candles. The smell of soft warm wax mixed thickly in the air with the heavy scent of vanilla and cinnamon, and under that an even richer one, reminding Will of dark grapes and wine casks. And, where the other room had been ringed with chaises and soft seating, this one held a single item of furniture, which Will could only glimpse through the sea of moving, talking and undulating bodies.

A vast, impossibly long wooden table stretched across the width of the room, the surface laden with an array of food the like of which Will had only ever seen in depictions of medieval banquets. Platters of whole roast meat joints, dishes of ripe split figs, mangos, melons and pomegranates covered every square inch, and then further down the length, an insanely ostentatious display of desserts completed the picture of decadence. Shaking his head in wonder, Will cast his eyes around the room and realised that – in virtually every corner – people were engaged in the act of feeding each other. Some were blindfolded, being fed handfuls of food by several others, while some were opening straddling each other across the surface of the table and against the bar, laughing as they smeared fruit and cake into their partners’ hair. The overall noise was cacophonous, and the atmosphere like a bacchanal. 

“This is insane.”

“You’re telling me,” a young black guy standing a few feet from him, shook his head in an echo of his own amazement, “I mean, I saw some stuff like this on YouTube before, but this is _Baltimore_ man! This shit is wild.”

Pointing with one hand, he motioned to the area by the side of the bar,

“Earlier on? Some blond chick was getting fucked by another chick with a _plantain_ over there, while another one smeared both their tits with Bosco,” he shook his head again, and took a deep steadying gulp of his drink, “Swear to God man. If I hadn’t seen it with own eyes, I’d have never believed it.”

The thick warm mist that had hung in the air on his last visit was here too, and taking it into his lungs, Will felt the same pulsing warmth moving through him as he had the last time. Although this time, alongside the low grade arousal that spread upwards from his groin, he suddenly found himself ravenously hungry. As he stepped towards the feast though, a dark figure passed to his right and dragged sharp-nailed fingers across his waist.

 _“Careful Will._ _Physical appetites are an analogy for our ability to control ourselves.”_  

Turning his head abruptly to the right, Will stared at the man beside him, but the face that stared back was not the one he was expecting. Instead, a young waiter carrying a tray of drinks gave him a look of mild concern.

“Are you ok sir?” 

Nodding, Will gave his head a small shake, and gestured for one of the drinks.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I think it’s just…hey do you know what’s in this mist that they pump into this place?”

Before he could get a reply though, a hand closed around his shoulder from behind and turned him around. To his surprise, Will found himself looking into the eyes of the pretty blond who’d been in the mask room the first night. 

“Hi!” Her smile was wide and effusive, “Glad you’re sticking to the same outfit or I’d never recognize you. Except maybe…” she grinned wider, “By dat fine ass.”

Flushing and smiling back at her, Will raised his glass to his lips.  

“Yeah, I figured it worked out pretty well the first time for me, so why chance my luck.”

Gulping down his wine, he was trying to remember the sorts of things you were supposed to say to women when they flirted with you in nightclubs when, on the other side of the banquet table, his eyes fell on the same dark figure he’d glimpsed before. Now, even with his back turned towards him, the wide span of his shoulders beneath the black shirt and the silver-blond hair was unmistakable.

“Excuse me…uh…”

“Zoe.”

The girl’s eyes turned up towards him expectantly, and his gaze lingered on her lips for a moment, before snapping back to the figure across the room.

“I just…,” frowning he touched her arm as he moved away, “I just need to go speak to my friend over there for a minute.” 

The area around the banquet table was crammed with people reaching for the plates of food to augment their interactions, and it took Will several pushes before he finally made contact with the surface. Through the shimmering heat haze created by the candelabra, he inclined his head to make eye contact with the man now standing only feet away from him and, without speaking, Hannibal turned sideways to regard him from one deep golden eye. His lips pulled back in a smile. 

“So we meet again.”

Lifting the glass of wine he was holding to his mouth, he took a deep draft from it and Will’s eyes followed as it travelled down inside the warm darkness of his throat. The sight of his neck stretching and adam’s apple as it bobbed sent a bolt of pure, memory-fueled lust straight to his dick. Drawing an unsteady breath, Will moved a little further to the right, noticing as he did so that Hannibal mirrored the movement.

“I have to say. I’m more than a little surprised to see you here,” keeping his voice soft and careful, Will cocked his head, “I would have thought you had other plans this evening.”

Reaching for a nearby carafe, Hannibal refilled his glass with an exaggerated movement, letting the wine pour from a height into the gilded interior. Then, motioning with his head, he leant across to refill Will’s own, the muscled length of his forearm sliding out from the sleeve of his shirt.

“And as I told you before, you don't know anything about me,” the golden-brown eyes turned upwards to look into his own, “Or have you perhaps convinced yourself otherwise?”

“Convinced myself that I know you?” Will gave his head a tiny shake, “No, I think it’s pretty obvious now I have absolutely no idea who you are. Or what game it is that you think we’re both playing here.”

“Careful, Virgil,” the silver-blond head moved from side to side in an expression of amused admonition, “To disparage the game is to scorn the players. And if there’s one quality I refuse to tolerate in a playmate, it’s rudeness.”

Snorting a laugh, Will lifted his chin and regarded him with narrowed eyes.

“Oh I imagine someone somewhere must have given you occasion to be rude before now. Although I suppose that would depend on what you consider constitutes rudeness.”

“To my mind there is a very clear definition.”  
  
“I’m sure.”

Their mirror trajectory along the perimeter of the table continued, and Will found himself wondering, positing, extrapolating what might happen when they reached the very end. Straightening his posture slightly, as if he was considering the same question, Hannibal fixed him with a quizzical look.

“I find myself questioning if perhaps I have offended you in some way, dear Virgil. Although quite how, I’m not entirely sure.”

“Offended me? But how could you?” Will offered him a gracious smile, “We’ve only just met.”

“Quite.”

“I imagine it takes a far more intimate acquaintance with you to be afforded _that_ rare experience. Offending complete strangers though? I imagine that’s a discourtesy you consider should be punishable by death.”

To his surprise, Hannibal’s body stilled with an eerie suddenness, and through the sockets of his mask Will thought he saw the colour of his eyes darken. Stepping to the end of the table, he stood facing him with his fingers laced together and leaned forward fractionally, lowering his voice to an almost whisper.

“Tell me, aren’t you hungry yet?” 

Reaching to the side, his fingertips strayed out almost casually, feathering the air above the mouth-watering display of desserts and fruits without actually touching them.

“Rather than spend so much time on imaginings, would not your efforts be better spent fuelling blood and muscles? You stand before me pale as a man who hasn't eaten for a day at least, and yet I’ve yet to see you reach for nourishment.”

Scooping a handful of grapes from a bowl, Hannibal reached forward and brought them towards his mouth, the heel of his hand brushing Will’s lips.

“Or perhaps…the hunger you feel is not one that can ever be sated by such as this?” 

When he reached and caught Hannibal’s wrist, it seemed to Will as if his hand had moved entirely of its own accord. Opening his mouth, he caught one of the grapes lightly between his teeth, while at the same time jerking him forward to close the distance between them. A small involuntary breath escaped the other man’s throat, and the tips of his teeth showed white inside soft, wine-tinted lips.

“It’s as I thought,” he said, “You are a glutton of quite another nature.”

Their breath mingled for a moment, wine mixing with the scent of cinnamon, before Will reached in to capture Hannibal’s lower lip between his own. The hand holding the grapes let them tumble to the floor, and then splayed fingers were at his waist while another hand fisted the loose fabric of his shirt. Bringing his body against him, Hannibal pressed into his flesh like a force of nature, all hard muscle and persistence, and Will felt the ache of his empty stomach recede behind a rush of endorphins. The kiss deepened, the wet heat of Hannibal’s mouth sliding against his own, sending little pulses of arousal down through his torso, and Will found he had to break away to take a breath. When he returned to recapture his mouth though, Hannibal’s drew back from him.

“Hungry _and_ greedy. A dangerous combination indeed.”

Nipping sharply at Will’s lower lip, he let his hand slide from his waist and, with only the lightest touch of his nails, traced the outline of his now obvious erection through his pants. The sensation sent a breath stuttering from Will’s lungs, and stepping back from him, Hannibal grinned wolfishly.

“Next time you come here looking for me, you might want to consider doing something about the first of those things, so you have some stamina left to satisfy the second.” 

Lifting his wine glass from the table, he took a last deep draught from it, before darting his tongue out to taste the minute trace of Will’s blood left there.

“In the meantime, might I suggest you get yourself a plate and something to eat, dear Virgil? I hate to have to tell you, but you’re looking positively famished this evening.”


	4. Greed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buster over indulges, Will considers self-actualization and Hannibal flirts with obliteration.

“You just don’t know when you’ve had enough do you?”

Crouched down on the floor of his kitchen, Will rubbed along the curve of Buster’s distended belly with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. Of all his strays the little terrier mix had always been the hardest one to train, and ever since the addition of Winston to the pack his behaviour had gotten even more erratic than usual. Just recently he’d taken to raiding the kitchen cupboards when Will was out for more than a few hours, and more than once now, had managed to find and eat something he shouldn’t have. Rather than crating him when he was out of the house, Will had instead bought a few child locks for the doors, but in a critical oversight had forgotten to fit one on the cupboard under the sink. The same one cupboard, unfortunately, he kept a plastic hopper of dog kibble in.

“You’re crazy, you know that right?”

Scratching behind his ears, Will frowned. Buster’s stomach looked positively lumpy and, judging by the how little kibble was left in the container, he’d eaten at least five times his usual allowance before being discovered. Standing with a sigh, he looked down at the whining dog at his feet and shook his head.

“Sorry buddy, I’m afraid you’re not going to like what has to come next.”

Sitting on his porch watching a dog vomit wasn’t the kind of activity Will had originally planned for the evening, but when he thought about it he was actually a little relieved to have had a legitimate excuse to message Hannibal and turn down the rain-checked dinner invite.  The memory of the kiss they’d shared four nights ago was still as fresh and vivid in his mind as the evening he’d returned home and jerked himself off in bed thinking about it. And although he appreciated the fact that Hannibal was going to pretty extraordinary lengths to maintain plausible denial about a ‘dual relationship’, the idea of spending an evening across a table pretending he didn’t have an enormous hard-on for his therapist sounded way more frustrating than it did enjoyable.

Rubbing a hand along Buster’s back, Will frowned deeply as he replayed the way Hannibal’s face had looked tasting Will’s blood on his lips, the ravenous possessive look in his eyes as he licked into his mouth and gripped his waist. The man he’d met in that club, whose face was partly hidden behind a mask, seemed a million miles from the serene, perfectly contained one who sat across from him once a week, holding his messy emotions with a firm assured hand. That man was someone he had come to trust above all others. The man from Volto Larva was like a looking glass version - a dark reflection of everything that spelled balance and safety - and the idea sparked a sudden remembrance of a session he’d had with Hannibal a few weeks previously.

The hour had started with the recounting of a dream he’d had the night before, in which he’d seen the same dark feathered stag he’d visualised on so many other occasions, but as he’d described how the animal had loomed over him as he knelt on the floor of a forest, Hannibal had closed the book he’d been writing notes in and sat back in his seat.

“Will you try something for me Will? Just for a moment? A little word association experiment, to see if we can get to the root of the symbolism here.”

Surprised to be stopped mid flow, Will’s mouth had hung open for a second before he nodded his agreement.

“Sure. Whatever you think will help.”

“I want you to try and clear your mind first. It may help you to imagine a rain covered windshield with wipers moving back and forth across the surface. When a thought strays into your consciousness, just allow the wipers to move out and across the rain spattered glass and brush it aside.” 

His voice was soft and measured, and forcing himself to relax into his chair, Will closed his eyes and did as he was told. Within a few seconds he had conjured a realistic image of a windshield, even adding a satisfying squeak to the wipers as they moved across it. Allowing his breathing to deepen, he send them back and forth across the glass, clearing away the thoughts that arose almost as soon as they began to form.

“Hmm. I like this.”

He said the words aloud without thinking, the sound of them warm and satisfied, and he could almost hear Hannibal’s answering smile.

“Good. I’m glad. Now continue to breathe as you are, follow the rhythm of the wipers, slow and easy, back and forth,” there was a small sound of fabric as Hannibal leaned forward in his seat towards him, “I’m going to give you a word and I want you to reply to it without allowing a thought to form before you do so. Are you ready?”

Will gave a tiny nod, silently watching rivulets of water trickling down the sides of his imagination. The sky through his windshield was a flat, glowing grey-white, the way it looked just before a heavy thunderstorm. 

“Night,” Hannibal said softly.

 _“Day,”_ Will replied.

“Sun.”

_“Shadow.”_

“Forest.”

_“Safe.”_

As he spoke the word Will flashed back to the forest of his dream, the stag above him. The image was stereotypically nightmarish - a monster looming above a prone figure - so why was the word ‘safe’ his first association? 

Hannibal had paused for a brief moment too, almost as if he sensed the connection Will needed to make, but now he continued.

“Hidden.”

Will’s next word stuttered from him, his own judgements trying to intrude.

 _“Uh…heart.”_ OK that one was just weird.

“Blood.”

Hannibal voice was a reassuring purr and he tried to relax again. He might have judgments about his associations, but Hannibal didn’t.

_“Uh…Breath.”_

“Sleep.”

 _“Awaken?”_  

“Live.”

_“Kill.”_

The word jumped from his lips, and he’d almost bit down on it as it escaped from him. Snapping his eyes open, he found himself looking directly into Hannibal’s own. The expression on his face was one of impassioned fascination, his cheeks flushed and glowing, and then just as suddenly it was gone behind the usual smooth aspect. 

“Sorry. I don’t know where that last one came from.”

Leaning back in his seat again, Hannibal crossed his long elegant legs and smiled.

“Never apologise for honesty Will. The associations we make in our subconscious are the purest expression of who we are. The shame and judgement we cast over them only represents the impediments we have allowed society to place on our true natures.”

Will’s brow furrowed in a frown of amusement.

“So what? You’re for casting off all impediments? Giving in to our impulses? What if my true nature is to be a homicidal maniac?”

Hannibal’s expression grew thoughtful, “Then I would encourage you to embrace that nature productively. If you harbour an innate desire for destruction, there are many ways you might direct your compulsion satisfactorily.”

Will’s lips quirked, “Satisfactorily? How? As an enthusiastic abattoir worker?”

Hannibal breathed a laugh,

“I know you know this Will, but the desire to end life is more often than not a derivation of the desire to wield power over life. We may long to know how it would feel to hold a beating heart under our fingertips, or have a knife held at our throat, because deep down we understand that the greatest vibrancy is to be found where the line between survival and destruction is at its finest. Would it not make sense then that the place where we feel most present, most alive is the one where that line is most likely to be drawn?” 

Will swallowed. The saliva in his throat felt cold going down.

“Are you suggesting that the only way I can... _self-actualize_ is by embracing the idea that part of me secretly wants to kill people? And be killed?”   

Lifting a glass of water to his lips, Hannibal’s face was a study of calm. 

“I’m suggesting that for every person who suppresses the desire to flirt with destruction, that longs to know how it feels, there is another just as seduced by the idea of being obliterated. We don’t need to swallow the fruit to learn its flavour Will. We need only find to find someone who grows it and ask for a taste.”

His words had lingered in Will’s subconscious for days afterwards, before he’d managed to push them to the back with equal parts work and whiskey. What ‘a taste’ of destruction might look like was an idea that intrigued him more than he felt it should, and when he allowed himself to examine it, the thought that kept firing in his brain was one that kept him awake at night. What if, once he’d had a taste of it, he finally knew that a taste would never be enough?

Hungry and greedy. Hannibal had said it himself, and he’d felt the truth of it even as he’d watched him move away and disappear into the crowd. His two visits to 'Volto Larva’ has awoken something in him that, try as he might, he couldn't seem to put back to sleep again. Picking Buster up and carrying him back inside, Will made sure he’d drunk some water, and then made him comfortable in his crate before calling the other dogs back inside. The sun had just started to go down and tomorrow was a work day, but he suddenly knew without a trace of doubt what it was he was both hungry and greedy for.

  

∞

 

Looking around the main room of the club, Will was unsurprised to see that – despite being a Sunday - it was just as busy as usual, although it did seem as if the crowd were a slightly older one than it had been in the past. Casting around, he was relieved not to see anyone he’d had interactions with on previous visits. It seemed that, like him, most people preferred to wear the same costume week after week, effectively assuming an alternate identity while they were here, and considering it, he decided that the idea had some appeal. The Will he became when he stepped through the door of ‘Volto Larva’ wasn’t one he was entirely familiar with yet, but today the act of putting on the clothes and mask had felt less like assuming a disguise and more like pulling on a glove: his thoughts and desires extending like fingers inside it.

Taking his coin from the bar, Will walked directly to the third playroom and pushed open the door. Inside the interior was the gaudiest he’d seen so far: gilt encrusted every surface, the seating fat and lavish, and in the centre of the room a huge circular bar shaped like a wheel, was surrounded by crowds of rowdy young people. Looking around, Will wondered why so many of them had gravitated in here from the main room, before realising by the similarity of their outfits that they must all be with the same group.

Catching the elbow of a passing barman with a tray of champagne, he leant into his ear.

“Is this a private party?”

“It is, but I’m pretty sure no-one cares. They’re a pretty wild crowd,” giving him a wry smile, the barman dipped his tray and offered him a glass, “This is an ’88 Krug. $1000 a bottle. Knock yourself out.”

The champagne was bright and bitter on his tongue, and with its effect combining with that of the mist, Will quickly found himself the perfect combination of sharply alert and perfectly relaxed. Scanning the room more thoroughly now, he caught a glimpse of a black shape stepping away from a group in the centre of the room and moved towards it. 

Hannibal’s figure slipped through the crowd ahead of him, one hand trailing out to the side brushing hips and curves as he went, and echoing his actions, Will followed. Either side of them, bodies curved and bent in their wake, some moving into their touch, some laughing and seeking after them with their hands. Turning his head to the side, Hannibal smiled as he caressed the buttocks of a beautiful young man in passing, daring Will to do the same and when he did, his smile widened further.

“I see you have a little more energy this evening, dear Virgil,” an eyebrow lifted above the curve of his mask, “Does this mean you remembered to eat before you came?”

Shaking his head slightly, Will kept pace with him as they moved forward,

“Sadly, something came up and I had to skip dinner,” as he drew alongside, their knuckles brushed and he took a deep steadying breath, “I did hope I might be able to find something here that would take the edge off though.”

Hannibal halted, and for a moment Will thought he saw a flash of surprise before it was instantly covered. Turning his body slightly towards him, he kept his eyes averted.

“That would depend on the size of your appetite. And on what it is you hunger for.”

Will’s hand moved from his side of its own volition, his fingers curling around the middle digits of Hannibal’s hand. Stepping purposefully forward, he drew him behind with an insistence that flared straight from his belly. They were only five steps into the nearest curtained alcove, when he ripped the drape closed and turned him around to face him. 

“Ok, fuck this bullshit. Are you going to tell me what you want from me or not?”

A sharp intake of breath was the only indication that Hannibal had heard him, the golden eyes staring back into his with the same silent intensity as they had so many time before in his office, and without pausing to consider the consequences Will lunged forward and pushed him back hard against the wall behind him.

Hannibal’s hair fell forward over his eyes, his cheeks flushing with what seemed like anger, and before Will could begin to question the wisdom of what his body was telling him to do next, he caught his mouth in a ravenous, searching kiss. Fisting great handfuls of his shirt, he pressed in with one knee pushing his thighs apart, and when he met no resistance, slid the flat of his hand straight down the plane of his belly into his pants. The guttural moan Hannibal exhaled into his mouth was maybe the most arousing thing he had ever heard.

“You wanted this didn't you? Ever since you first suggested I come here. This is what you imagined isn't it? Me losing control? You sit there in your tailored suits, making sure I don't spill out over the edges, but deep down, deep deep down, you’ve just been _longing_ to squeeze haven’t you? Longing to see what happens when the seams start to split.” 

Shoved deep inside Hannibal’s pants, his palm opened, slipping around the warm, thick length of his cock to grip the shaft. Thumbing upwards, he pushed the soft silky foreskin up until it covered the head, and then rubbed through it. Hannibal’s breath in his mouth stuttered, his tongue flicking out to moisten his soft lower lip.

“Although I don’t, of course, have the slightest idea what you’re talking about my dear Virgil, might I point out that your rather colourful accusation has one very obvious flaw?”

Grinding his pelvis into his hand, his lips parted.

“ _I’m_ not the one doing the squeezing.”

The wide plane of his chest pressed against Will’s own, and through the cage of his ribs he could feel the pounding of Hannibal’s heart, strong and altogether too fast to be under control. A sudden, exquisite feeling of power flushed through his body, and with a fast violent movement he brought a hand to Hannibal’s throat and wrapped the span of his fingers around it. The other hand, still buried in the warm nest of his pubic hair, continued to stroke. And if Hannibal’s pupils had been wide before, the darkness in his eyes now seem fathomless.

“Tell me dear Virgil. Are you hungry and greedy still? Hungry for something you can’t name, and greedy for something you dare not take?”

Leaning forward again fractionally, Hannibal’s teeth tugged at the curve of his bottom lip. Beneath Will’s hand his throat moved, the muscles tensing and relaxing against the surface of his hand, echoed by the thick pulsing of his cock in the other. Gripping tighter with both, Will crowded against him.

“I don’t have to name it in order to take it.”

Setting his jaw, he pulled free the hand in Hannibal’s pants to tug loose the laces of his fly, before pushing him back roughly into the seat behind him. Then, keeping his eyes on his face, he knelt between his knees and looped the thick leather cords around the arms of the chair and Hannibal’s wrists, before knotting them tight.

“How about this instead.”

Replacing the span of his hand on his throat, he watched as it contracted under his fingertips. Laid against Hannibal’s belly, the hot red arc of his erection twitched with every shift of Will’s fingers on his windpipe.

“I take what I want, as much as I want, until I’ve had my fill, and you sit here and watch me.”  

Pressing him back into the cushions, he held his eyes for a long moment while Hannibal fought for breath, and then without pausing sunk his mouth down over him.

The deep groan that escaped Hannibal’s chest felt as if it had shaken him to his core. Arching his back, he pressed his pelvis forward into Will’s mouth, but the hand on his throat held him fast, and he bent like a bow beneath him, thighs trembling against the cushioned seat. Pressing his tongue against the thick ridged underside of his cock, Will felt an answering sound coming from his own body, a deep bass hum that resonated through the chambers of his skull, as he hungrily swallowed Hannibal down. Glancing up at his face, he felt a fierce exultation at how utterly ruined he now looked, eyes wide, face flushed and panting, as his hands spasmed in their bonds.

Letting his cock slip from his lips, Will widened his hand on his throat as he gripped the base of his shaft.

“So how does it feel?”

Hannibal’s eyes were dark with some warring emotions, but a smile ghosted his swollen lips. Swallowing, his adam’s apple moved against Will’s fierce hold.

“How does what feel?”  
  
Will’s lips parted, breathing out, “How does it feel to flirt with obliteration?”

Hannibal’s eyelashes fluttered downwards, and for a moment Will could have sworn he saw a trace of tears.  
  
“Transcendent, my dear Virgil. It feels quite transcendent.”  
  
Pressing his thumb into his windpipe, he watched as he struggled for breath again for a moment, before bowing his head and painting a thick warm stripe down his length with his tongue. As Hannibal trembled beneath him, he turned his eyes upwards one last time.

“Will. Call me Will.”

Hannibal’s lips parted, sharp teeth glinting in the dim light, as he took him in whole. Under his hand, he felt the muscles in his abdomen expand and contract as his orgasm built and then exploded, pulsing hotly against the back of his throat and over his tongue.

Swallowing greedily until every last trace was gone, Will pressed his lips into the thick hair around the base of his softening shaft, and slowly allowed the grip on his throat to soften into a caress. And, after a moment or two, lips brushed the open spread of his hand and breathed a name into his palm.

“Will.”

The word was soft and dark like a benediction, and Will listened. Heard it from deep inside Hannibal’s body, spread his fingers across his belly and asked for it again. 

“Will.”

_“Again”_

“Will” 

_“Again.”_

Until he had finally had enough.


	5. Wrath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will gets a little mad, Alana gets a little 'shamey' and Hannibal gets kind of punitive.

“Hey Graham? You with us buddy?”  
  
Beverly’s voice, sharp-edged with her trademark sardonic brand of concern, jerked Will unceremoniously out of his NSFW reverie and back into the cold reality of a morning crime scene. Stood at his elbow, arms crossed over her chest, Katz’s eyes narrowed with suspicion as, cheeks flushing, he struggled to regain his composure.  
  
“Jesus Will, where are you at? You look like you got caught surfing porn on your iPhone.”  
  
Giving her head a small shake, she side-eyed Zeller and Price who were hovering a few feet away trying to eavesdrop, sending them both skittering away like scolded puppies.  
  
“You going to tell me why you’ve been in outer space ever since you got here? What’s a matter, late night again?”

Pulling his coat tighter around himself, Will shoved his hands deep into his pockets and avoided her eyes. Beverly Katz might not have an empathy disorder, but she had an uncanny knack of recognising when something was off with him and the instincts of a bloodhound for figuring out the source, and there was no way she could ever be allowed to get the scent of this one.   

“It’s nothing, just not sleeping too good at the moment.”

Chewing on his bottom lip, Will cast his eyes around the site in front of him: the fluttering plastic tape, the traces of gore, the exhausted cops and forensic staff. In the not so distant past he’d have been in a state of high anxiety here, attuned to every detail of the scene, but today he just felt bored and irritable. Like there had to be a better use of his time than staring at dried blood spatter and trying to see the face of the spatteree.

Stepping away from Beverley’s laser-pointer gaze he wandered back towards the cars, carefully circumventing the huddle of law enforcement professionals that included the tall figure of Jack Crawford. He’d almost made it past the crime-scene tape when his phone started to ring and, pulling it from his pocket to silence it, he blanched when he saw the name on the display.  
  
_::Hannibal Lecter::_

Silencing the ringer, Will allowed the phone to lie vibrating in his palm while he continued to worry his bottom lip. He’d missed his weekly appointment with Hannibal two days ago, having made sure to call the office at an hour he was certain to get his voicemail, and he knew that the message he’d left had likely irritated him with its offhand tone. He had, in his defence, been kind of drunk when he’d made it, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t also been feeling genuinely aggrieved.

It had been years since Will had experienced anything more meaningful than a one night stand with anyone, and although he wasn’t averse to the idea of a casual hook-up, he preferred it when he at least understood that was what was happening. Hannibal was not, after all, some random stranger who had just picked him up on a whim for an affair. He had suggested the club and been there to meet him when he got there, making it clear on his successive visits that he was more than happy to extend Will’s ‘therapy’ into far less conventional areas, as long as they _tacitly_ agreed to maintain strict compartmentalisation of their professional and social relationships. 

What Will was starting to find more than a little irritating though, was just how damned good at compartmentalisation Hannibal Lecter seemed to be.

Realising the phone had finally stopped, he stared at it for a moment longer watching for the voicemail icon to appear, before returning it to his pocket. Life never seemed to get any less complicated, and now it felt like something that had started out as an attempt to alleviate stress had just turned into yet another source of it. Sighing softly, Will rubbed a hand over his face, and stared absently at the flashing blue lights on the nearest squad car. It was only 11am but it already felt like the end of a very long day.

“Will, please tell me you’re not leaving.”  
  
Peeling off from the uniforms, Jack Crawford jogged quickly over to him and laid a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Katz said you’re not feeling it today. Can I at least persuade you to have another walk round the perimeter? I can send one of the techs out to Starbucks?”

Grimacing, Will shook his head and summoned his most apologetic look as he made his excuses, although as it turned out, this time he didn’t even have to tell a lie. He genuinely did seem to have a splitting migraine coming on.

Wearing an expression of resigned frustration, Jack slapped him gently on the back, and seemed about to offer some words of consolation when his cell started to ring. As he turned to answer it, Will had begun to edge away when Crawford caught him and thrust the phone into his hand.

“It’s Hannibal. He wants to speak to you.” 

A broad hot band of tension pressed against Will’s chest and he stood with the handset outstretched in his palm for a moment, before Jack’s deep frown of confusion forced him to lift it to his ear. 

“Hello Dr. Lecter.”

The tiny pause on the other end of the phone before he replied told him everything he needed to know about Hannibal’s mood in an instant.

“Hello Will. It would seem you’ve been avoiding me.” 

Closing his eyes, Will could picture him perfectly sat at his desk, hair immaculate, silk pocket square in place, and a look of icy displeasure on his face. Forcing a slow measured breath, he turned his back on Crawford and moved away a few steps.

“I guess it would be pointless me denying it. Although in my defence, you were the one who told me that I should try to prioritise my own needs over those of everyone else’s.”  
  
Another icy pause then,

“I do not _need_ you to attend therapy with me Will, but have you perhaps formed the opinion that our conversations have outgrown their usefulness to you?” 

A dry painful laugh escaped from his own throat,

“Well, let’s just say that they haven’t been too useful of late, no. Lately I’ve found our sessions to be more confusing than anything else and, if I’m not mistaken, that’s pretty much the reverse of how these things are supposed to go, isn’t it?” 

At the other end of the line he could hear Hannibal breathing, and although it sounded smooth and regular he couldn’t shake the impression that his therapist’s usual composure was somewhat ruffled. Clearing his throat, the other man made a low thoughtful humming noise. The unmistakable sound of a pen tapping on a hard surface.

“Will, I would really prefer it if we met face to face to discuss this. Could you perhaps stop by the office when Jack is finished with you there?”

A thin cold wind had started blowing in from the north, picking up the dust from the dry ground and swirling it around them in clouds, and watching it rise and settle Will stared impassively at the imposing bulk of Crawford’s body as he stood waiting for him to finish his conversation. Frowning, he gave his head a small decisive shake.

“No, I don't think so Doctor Lecter. Maybe some other time.”

 

∞

  

“You’re playing with fire Will, you know that right?” 

Walking alongside him across the parking lot after class the following evening, Alana Bloom regarded him sideways with the same warm-but-slightly-worried smile she always seemed to wear when she talked to him.

“Jack isn’t happy, you know? And Hannibal…apparently Hannibal doesn’t react at all well to being dumped. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard him quite as agitated,” a tiny curious frown creased her brow, “What did you say to him anyway?”

Shrugging with feigned nonchalance, Will shouldered his bag and gripped the stack of papers he was holding more firmly, as he leaned against the door of his car. The idea that Hannibal might be ‘agitated’ by his actions was both surprising and strangely exciting, although he didn't really want to think too much about why that was. 

“I didn’t really say anything. Only that I don’t have any need to see him right now, and that I’d get in touch if and when I did.”

Whistling appreciatively, Alana raised her eyebrows,

“’ _If and when you did_ ’? Wow, that’s pretty cold. I thought you were friends?”

Will snorted softly, unlocking the rear door he threw the files and his bag onto the back seat and slammed it shut again.

“I don't know if you’d have called us that,” he jerked his head in a faint acknowledgement, “I’d started to trust him. Now I’m not so sure that was a good idea.”

Alana frowned. Crossing her arms, she took a step or two backwards.

“Well maybe you don’t think of him as a friend, but I know he thinks a lot of you. I’m not sure you realise how rare that is. Hannibal doesn’t make friends easily, and I’ve never known him take to anyone as quickly as he has to you,” she gave him a look full of gentle admonition, “You’ve hurt his feelings Will.” 

Sitting in his car watching Alana walk away, Will gripped the steering wheel of the Volvo with a mix of frustration and creeping guilt. The last thing he’d wanted to do was feel sorry for Hannibal, but Alana’s assertion that Hannibal genuinely cared for him had worked its way under his skin like a needle, and he felt a sudden strong desire to try and repair the rift that had been created between them. Starting the engine, he checked his watch. It was just after 6 but if he hurried he could probably be in central Baltimore by 8.30, and as it was Friday night, he was fairly certain he knew where Hannibal would be.

 

∞

 

Despite the club being packed to capacity, it wasn’t that hard to find him. The interior of the fourth playroom -  The Wrath Room - was by far the most starkly lit he’d encountered so far, in fact if Will hadn’t already seen the rest of the club he probably would have balked at the door. The whole place was nothing but hard metal surfaces, harsh lighting and industrial chic, giving it the look of a kind of sophisticated meat packing plant. The other major change was that this time the music pounding his eardrums was live. A five-piece band, sounding like a modern reboot of The Ramones, were hammering through a set on the small stage, while the energetic crowd in front of them threw themselves around in a kind of fierce rhythmic abandon. To say that it was an odd juxtaposition with the colourful flowing costumes was an understatement, but what it did mean was that he spotted Hannibal almost immediately. And he was not alone.

It took Will a few moments to recognise him, but when he did he felt an odd, bitter taste flood his mouth. His attentive doorman, the one who’d made his admiration so clear on his first visit, was dressed in form-fitting black leather pants and a dark red shirt that showed off the deep chocolate of his skin, and was effectively plastered to Hannibal’s side, one arm encircling his waist while his lips brushed at his ear. Beside him, the other man lounged casually against the angle of the wall, a soft skein of silver-blonde hair falling forward over his mask and, as Will watched, bent in to listen, smiling softly.

Something in Will’s chest blossomed hotly, and he straightened his back with a sudden uncomfortable realisation. Until this moment, he hadn’t been able to identify what his feelings for the man he’d come to know here were, varying as they did between a kind of guilty heated lust and a confused sense of gratitude, but suddenly he found he could distinguish one descriptor very clearly indeed.

He felt insanely jealous.

Energy pulsed down through his arms from his chest as he stalked across the room towards the two figures. He was maybe three quarters of the way there when he saw Hannibal turn, raking through the crowd as if he sensed his approach. Then, as he found and locked onto Will’s eyes, it felt like something dark flew out to coat him, like warm blood spatter.

“Oh hey, it’s my favourite newbie!!”

His beautiful doorman crowed out a greeting before either one of them could speak. Springing from Hannibal’s side to take Will’s hand, his mouth stretched in a wide warm grin. 

“I was just telling our mutual here that I’ve never known anyone take to this place like you have, it’s like you were born to wear breeches!” he inclined his head, “And of course the curls help. You know you’ve got this whole Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo thing going on, right?” 

The silence between Hannibal and himself stretched out, neither taking their eyes from the other to acknowledge he’d spoken, and within a few seconds he could feel the young man’s burgeoning discomfort.

“OK, am I crazy, or am I getting a kind of angry ‘fuck-me or fight-me’ vibe?”

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed fractionally at that, but still he didn't speak. Taking pity on their companion, Will addressed him quietly without turning his head.

“I think maybe my friend and I have a few things to iron out here. Perhaps it’d be better if you left us to it.”

The distance between them felt charged, and yet Will felt reluctant to close it any further himself. Pushing himself off the wall, Hannibal stood upright before him, one hand curled softly around the stem of the glass he was holding. Another beat or two passed, and then he appeared to make up his mind about something. Bringing his glass up, he tilted it back and swallowed the last mouthful of the dark red liquid, before licking his lips.

“Follow me,” he said.

∞

 

The private room he led him to was clearly designed for one purpose and one purpose only, and as Hannibal closed and bolted the soundproof door behind them, Will felt his heartrate immediately kick up into high gear.

Like the rest of the Wrath Room, every surface in the place was hard, brushed steel, although here and there, presumably where throats and chins and wrists were meant to rest, there were a few leather-padded edges.

Stepping up close behind him, Hannibal spoke calmly and softly.

“I wasn’t entirely happy with the naming of this area, did I tell you that before? Canto number seven describes the fifth Circle as drawing a clear separation between wrath and sullenness, as two distinct forms of the single sin of Anger. The souls of the sullen lie mired in the thick cloying mud of the Styx, their sighs rising and breaking as bubbles on the surface, while the wrathful rend and tear at each other’s flesh with their claws, consigned to bellow their blood-soaked rage up at the implacable sky of Dis for all eternity.”

Leaning in a fraction closer, his breath stirred the hairs on the back of Will’s neck.

“Given a choice, I know which one I’d rather be.”

Stepping in front of them both, Hannibal walked to the side of the tall, X-shaped structure that took up most of one wall and motioned with one hand. A raised questioning eyebrow. 

“Shall we?”

The warm swirling sensation that had begun in Will’s stomach as he’d entered the room intensified as he stepped towards him. Every trace of the anger and frustration he had been feeling for the last week seemed to be melting from his bones like butter, pooling in his muscles and making his joints feel impossibly loose and liquid. Stepping up against the cross, he pressed the toes of each foot against the base and watched as Hannibal fastened the leather cuffs around his ankles.

“The sullen suppressed their anger and it poisoned them. The wrathful acted on theirs and it destroyed them,” leaning back and stretching his hands to the upper straps, Will laid his wrists against the leather pads, “Seems like whichever way you choose to express yourself, you lose.”

Warm fingers threaded through his own as the buckles were pulled tight, and standing behind him Hannibal pressed the length of his body lightly to his own for a moment.

“Exactly the conclusion countless religions have come to over the millennia. Which is why, I imagine, the concept of forced catharsis was first developed.”

He heard Hannibal step away a few paces, and then a sound unlike anything Will had ever heard before whispered across the surface of the floor behind him. Every muscle in his body tensed, the tendons of his calves rigid and lower back flexing in anticipation.

“Is there any particular word you’d like to give me Will, just so I know when I should stop?”

Turning his head slightly, he met Hannibal’s eye. Perfectly clear and golden brown, it seemed to look into him with the deepest understanding he’d known in his entire life, and he felt his lips slowly curve in a smile.

“I’m not going to tell you to stop.”

When the first blow hit, the rush felt like he imagined mainlining heroin did. The pain was like a mini lighting strike, networking out over the surface of his skin and rushing downwards to find earth, and with each consecutive strike he felt more blood jerk into his already stiffening cock. Behind him, Hannibal was silent at first and then, as he continued and Will began to let out a series of low gasps, his breathing too became audible. A ragged, rough sound that was filled with barely contained arousal.

Despite the many dark urges Will had directed inwards over the years, he had never considering inflicting pain on himself to be anything other than the most destructive of impulses. What had never occurred to him was how transformative the sensation of allowing someone he trusted to do it for him might be.

Pausing to press his palms to either side of his waist, Hannibal leant his full weight against his back. Although he hadn't been putting a great deal of effort into the strokes, his breathing was shallow, and when he pressed in closer, the depth of his arousal more than obvious. Passing a hand around Will’s hip, he pressed the heel of it against the hard curve of his erection, eliciting a low groan.

“You realise that in the absence of a safeword your only means of protection is my self-control?”

Hannibal’s teeth skated along his trapezoid muscles, before biting down gently. Humming in the back of his throat, Will rolled his head against him.

“Should that be a concern for me? In my experience, your self-control has never been anything less than admirable.”

A soft tutting sound, “Again dear Virgil, the most puzzling presumption of familiarity,” and then the hand at his groin was tugging at the laces there.

There was a dull clatter and Will saw the black handle of the flogger he’d been using out of the corner of his eye, discarded on the floor. Hannibal’s other hand tugged roughly at the back of his breeches, pulling them down over the curve of his ass as far as his spread legs enabled, and then warm palms were pushing the damp fabric of his shirt up his stinging back. There was a pause, and an open mouthed kiss was pressed between his shoulder blades. 

“You came here tonight angry with me. What story did you tell yourself to ignite such righteous indignation?”

The lips on his back moved lower, Hannibal’s tongue painting a lazy stripe down his spine. Shifting, feeling acutely exposed with the bare curve of his ass pressed against his erection, Will drew in a sharp breath.

“I told myself that you were playing me. Having your fun with me in here, when outside in the real world…” he jerked as Hannibal’s fingertips cupped his ass cheek, “Outside, you wouldn't have anything to do with me.”

There was faint sound of leather laces being pulled and Will breath stuttered, every muscle in his lower back tensing as if preparing for more blows from the whip. Then his erect cock was suddenly wrapped in Hannibal’s warm hand, while the bare heat of the other man’s own pressed firmly against the cleft of his buttocks.

“Is that what you tell yourself Will? That no-one could desire the real you?”

Stroking him firmly with one hand, Hannibal laid a cool cheek to the flat of his back, the thick length of him sandwiched between their bodies. Slowly and with great deliberation, he pulled his hips back and began to rut against him. 

“My poor sweet Virgil. Unable to show your true face to the world for fear of rejection. Keeping your darkest desires hidden, only allowing them to be shown under the cover of darkness,” his hips snapped, teeth skating skin, “Longing to rend and tear and scream, but telling yourself that divine retribution will surely follow.”

Squeezing his shaft with every upstroke, Hannibal’s breath synced with his own, drawing low moans from his diaphragm with every dull press of his cock against his hole. Twisting his hips, Will could feel himself angling back against him, willing him to push in harder.

“You make me sound like…a fucking victim.” 

He gasped the words out, and felt Hannibal smile against his back, teeth pointed and sharp, pressing into him. A jerk upwards again, and Will felt the warm flood of pre-come as it slicked the channel around him.

“Are you a victim Will?” 

“A…victim? Fu...fuck...No. No. I’m not a victim.” 

The rhythm of their thrusts reached an erratic pulsing crescendo, and as he felt Hannibal come, a fierce hot feeling unwound from his chest as he followed suit, fucking desperately into his clenched fist as if it was his own.

As the wave receded, he felt his thighs begin to shake uncontrollably and, sucking in great lungfuls of air, he started to laugh, words falling out of him between breaths.

“To be honest…I’ve never felt less…like one…in my entire life.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Hannibal's Flogger](https://store.kink.com/product/all-rubber-flogger-by-bare-leatherworks/) for those in the market. Not normally recommend for newbies.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to everyone who send me an amazing comment in the last few days and cheered me up during a particularly demanding work week. Y'all are the best.


	6. Heresy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will questions the existence of God, and Hannibal finds something worth giving thanks for.

“Do you believe in God?”

It was clear autumn morning, and the sunlight angling sharply through the gap in the curtains of Hannibal’s office sliced the circling dust motes through with gold. Standing and watching them drift and dance, Will felt an ironic smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Dramatic shafts of sunlight always made him think of Doré etchings. 

Behind him, the soft sound of Hannibal dropping his pencil onto his notebook signalled that their formal session was ended for another week. Standing with a soft creak of leather, he stepped over to his desk and poured himself a glass of water. There was a short pause while he drank, and then a slightly longer one as he seemed to consider his answer. Their hour together had been an uncharacteristically quiet one that day, in which Will had had little to say and Hannibal has spent a great deal of time sat in silent contemplation of that fact, and yet neither had been unduly disturbed by it.

Setting his glass down, Hannibal moved across the room to stand by his side. The view from the window of the street was unremarkable - traffic, people walking, pigeons - but the addition of the other man at his shoulder altered it somehow, and Will wondered abstractly at the deep sense of connection he now felt with him. If Hannibal felt it too though, he gave no indication, only smiled faintly as he replied.

“In the first years of my life, I believed without question, as only the innocent can. But once I found reason to, the fragility of my childish convictions was such that my faith was consumed in seconds.”

Will frowned. The idea of Hannibal as a small boy was a strange one. He tried to imagine his face, smoothed of lines, the silver-blond hair the colour of wheat, but the image refused to come. The grown man’s eyes, knowing, deep and amber-brown, refused to fit there.  
  
“Sounds painful.”  
  
Hannibal gave a tiny shrug,

“Not especially so. If anything, I imagine belief to be the more painful position. To maintain the existence of a divine creator who controls the destiny of men, when all one has experienced is suffering, would point to a very particular psychology,” pushing his hands into his pockets, he straightened his back, “I often feel loss of faith is better reframed as the stage before rebirth.”  


“A rebirth into what? Nihilism?”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Hannibal’s lips twitch slightly.  
  
“Into autonomy.”  
  
Turning his body towards Will’s, he fixed him with a look that demanded his attention, and after a moment or two Will met it. Hannibal’s gaze was as clear and calm as the surface of a pond, albeit with the faint hint of an amused question mark in it.

“Tell me Will, are you currently experiencing a crisis of faith?”

Will breathed out a laugh. Sometimes it was easy to forget everything that had transpired between Hannibal and himself in the last few weeks, and return to the easy friendship they had begun to form beforehand. In some ways, he regretted the loss, but try as he might he couldn’t find it in himself to regret the release he’d experienced in the company of his masked alter-ego. 

Will answered his question.

“No. I’m not sure I ever believed in God to be honest, even when I was a kid. I think my dad saw to that. No, I imagine I’m just…questioning a lot of things lately. I guess I’m just curious how other people see their place in the world.”

“People?” Hannibal’s lifted an eyebrow quizzically, “Or me specifically?”

Now it was Will’s turn to shrug.

“Specifically, I’m with you right now.”

It felt like a deflection even as he said it, and he was fairly sure Hannibal recognised it as such, given the way his brows drew together and his eyes softened.

“This sounds like the type of conversation that’s better had over dinner, Will. Would you perhaps allow me to make good on our rain check this evening, if you have no other plans that is?”

Will hesitated. Less than a month ago he would have accepted the invitation readily, but now the idea of sitting across from each other making conversation that necessarily avoided certain topics seemed unappealing. One of things he’d come to value the most intensely in his talks with Hannibal was the fact that no subject he ever brought to the table had felt unwelcome. Now, given how clearly Hannibal had set their new boundaries, it seemed that this had changed. 

Shifting his feet in place, Will felt a low twitching in his belly that he read as frustration, but also excitement. This was, after all, a game he had chosen to play, and there had to be some way he could turn Hannibal’s carefully applied rules to his advantage. 

“OK. That’d be great, thank you. Although, could we eat a little earlier than usual? Say 6?”

Hannibal’s smile was a thing of warmth. Checking his wristwatch he stepped over towards the client’s exit to open the door for him.

“Of course. 6 o’clock it is. Do you have plans for the rest of the evening?”

Will’s answering smile was equally warm.

“I’m not sure yet. I hope so.”

 

∞

 

When Will arrived at Hannibal’s house at 5.45, he sat in his car for several minutes waiting for his heart rate to slow. The drive to Baltimore from Quantico had felt unnaturally long that evening, as if time had sped up for him but not for everyone else on the road, making his normal low-level impatience behind the wheel nearly intolerable. Of course, he allowed as he checked his reflection in the darkened dash mirror, it might also have something to do with the slight unease he was feeling about what he was about to do.

Grabbing the package he’d brought from his backseat, Will locked up the car and rang Hannibal’s doorbell. From inside he could hear the faint strains of music, then the sound of unhurried footsteps approaching the door, each one seeming timed to the thump of his heart. The door opened and in the split second between Hannibal’s eyes lighting on his face and then taking him in fully, Will saw everything he wanted to.

“Will,” a pause, then, “It would seem that your evening plans have solidified.”

His tone was carefully chosen, a perfect blend of curiosity and amusement, but the fleeting expression on his face as he’d noted Will’s choice of outfit had been unmistakable. It had taken an excruciating long time combing the kind of clothing stores that Will positively loathed, but he’d finally managed to find a pair of pants that clung to him in an identical way to the leather breeches at ‘Volto Larva’. The shirt had been a less difficult task, although he’d tried on maybe a dozen before he’d been satisfied that it met all his criteria. Flowing silk it wasn’t, but the precise cut and rich fabric accentuated his shoulders and chest in the exact same way as his costume, albeit with a slightly more modest neckline. The main difference between this outfit and the one he wore at the club of course, was the colour. 

“Black suits you.” Hannibal’s lips had parted slightly now and Will felt a low warmth uncoil in his belly at the sight.

“Do you think so? I worried it was too harsh.”

“No, not at all.” 

Stepping aside to let him in, Hannibal smoothed down the front of his linen apron with one hand. It was an entirely natural movement, he could have been wiping away flour or drying his hands, but Will couldn’t help note with satisfaction that the gesture seemed to serve another purpose. Turning on his heel the second he was inside, he brought them into immediate proximity, their feet bumping at the toes. He could almost hear Hannibal’s sharp intake of breath.

“I bought you a gift.”

He held the open bag just an inch or two further away than would suggest an offering, and the other man inclined his head fractionally.

“Wine?”

“And honey.”

A spark of light jumped in the centre of each of Hannibal’s pupils. Reaching out with both hands, he drew first the bottle and then the jar from the bag, turning them both over in his palms.

Inside the amber jar of honey, a thick wedge of comb glowed dully in the light from the hallway, and lifting it above his head Hannibal regarded it with rapt, almost childlike admiration. The smile that had been hovering at the corners of his lips stretched wider, and his eyes flicked back to rest on Will’s face, the enjoyment in them unmistakable.

“Wine and honey. A traditional pagan offering to the gods.”

“I thought you’d appreciate it.”

Hannibal’s soft laugh held a hint of surprise,“I most certainly do. And as luck would have it, Assyrtico is the perfect grape to compliment our starter this evening.”

“And the honey?”

Stepping ahead of him towards the kitchen, Hannibal’s palmed the small jar with long elegant fingers.

“Oh I’m sure I can find find a creative use for it at a later date.”

 

∞

 

When he left Hannibal’s house a couple of hours later, Will’s felt as if his whole body were buzzing pleasantly from the wine, while his mind felt laser focused. As he peeled away from the curb, it was as if an invisible line was drawn straight from his location to the door of the club a few miles away, and that every turn he took that deviated from that direct path were a small irritation. 

Hannibal’s demeanour had been subtly different all evening, his gaze more that usually attentive, like a warm hand that seemed always to be hovering a few centimetres from contact. Will had enjoyed the change in the quality of his attention immensely, and for maybe the first time in his life had felt the power of being perceived as an object of desire. Every inch of his skin hummed with it, his limbs moving easily and precisely as he locked his car and pushed his way through the door of the club, glancing to the right to acknowledge the greeting of the doorman, and then pushing through the double doors and stepping into the mask room. 

Pausing just long enough to orientate himself, he let his eyes scan the rail at the rear of the room where the costumes were kept before spotting what he was looking for.

“You changing it up tonight?”

Zoe’s smile was friendly, but noticeably lacking in the flirtatiousness there had been when he met her on the dance floor. When Will didn’t answer immediately, she moved away awkwardly to tidy one of the displays.

“Where’s the mask that goes with this?”

Holding out the outfit he’d chosen at arm’s length he waited for her to turn and look, and when she did he noted the slight widening of her pupils.

“You mean the one…?”  


“The one he usually wears with it, yes.”

The girl shook her head slightly, and Will couldn’t help but notice she seemed more nervous that she had reason to be.

“I…uh…it’s his I think. The mask. I think he brings it with him. At least, it’s not one of our designs.”

“Has he always worn it?”

“Ever since I’ve worked here, yeah. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wear anything else,” she gave a small awkward shrug, “You could ask Alex at the bar though, he’d probably know. He’s been here from the start.”

Will nodded. Lifting his chin, he let his eyes slide over the outfit critically before turning back to her.

“Find me the closest thing you have.”

 

∞

 

Will didn’t know what he had been expecting inside the fifth of the playrooms, but had he attempted to form an idea he imagined that reality would have entirely exploded it. 

The wooden doors of the room was far heavier than the others had been, and as they swung closed behind him, instead of a wide open space he found himself in a dark soundless vestibule only a metre or so wide, smelling thickly of sandalwood and lavender. 

Stepping forward hesitantly in the semi-dark, his reaching hands fell flatly on the surface of another set of doors every bit as heavy as the first, then - sliding down - two iron handles shaped like long twisted horns. Pushing them downwards, he braced himself against the weight of the doors and shoved in, feeling as he did so the familiar rush of warm misty air inside gush out to greet him. Then, for a moment, he just stood in wonder, his lips parting as he tried to understand what it was he was seeing. 

The ceiling of the room seemed impossibly high and dark and was studded with what looked like actual stars, glittering faintly in a sea of invisible velvety blackness, while under his feet the floor was carpeted with a deep rich green carpet, the exact texture and hue of forest moss. Instead of an open dance floor, the chamber with constructed as a series of interlocking clearings, separated by realistic trees and soft, low furniture made to look like fallen limbs and stumps.  Although there were probably forty of fifty people in the space, there was an air of intensity to it unlike that of the previous rooms, and a sense that each separate area were enclosed in its own private bubble, rather than part of a flowing scene. 

There didn’t see to be a bar per se, but as Will stepped forward between the trees a young man dressed as some kind of forest creature approached him with a tray.

“Mead, sir?”

“Of course. What else.” 

Will breathed a wry laugh as he took one of the offered vessels, and cocking his head, the nymph watched as he tasted it. The heavy scent of spice mixed with honey lingered in his nostrils as the warm liquid flowed down his throat, and Will swallowed and sucked in his bottom lip appreciatively.

“Not bad.”

“It’s actually getting pretty popular since ‘Game of Thrones’ came out.” 

Cracking a knowing grin, the young man refilled his glass from the jug on his tray, and then jerked his head to the other side of the room. 

“If you want another refill, just come and find me over by the waterfall.”

“The…waterfall?”

“You can just follow the stream.”

The stream, as it happened, was not real water, just a clever arrangement of high-def screens under thick plexiglass, but the effect was very beautiful none the less. Walking alongside it, sipping his drink, Will found himself an uninhabited area of the forest and sat down to admire it. Music drifted through the air, although not loud enough to drown out the other sounds of revelry around him, and after a minute or two Will rolled over comfortably onto his back to listen. 

It seemed like only a few minutes passed before a shadow fell across him and a familiar figure folded himself down to the ground at his side.

“What’s this called?”  
  
Will didn’t even bother to turn his head. Just drew his eyebrows together, knowing that the answer would come eventually.

“Prelude l’apres midi d’un faune. Claude Debussy.”

Reaching out for his drink, Will lifted his head slightly to swallow. He didn’t look directly at Hannibal, propped as he was alongside him on one elbow, but he could see that in the absence of his customary black costume, he had instead opted to wear Will’s usual attire. It was everything he could do to keep the smile from his lips as he settled back down.

“Prelude? Does that mean there’s a rest-of-the-afternoon or an evening of the faun too?”

“Debussy wrote it in response to a poem of the same name by the French symbolist poet Mallarmé. It is widely considered to represent a turning point in the development of modern music.”

“Why?”

A soft sigh escaped from Hannibal’s lips, and he shifted slightly, lowering his head to rest on the carpet of moss next to Will’s. He spoke, and Will felt the vibration of his voice deep in his solar plexus.

“Is this really a subject that interests you?” 

Opening his mouth to offer an amiable retort, Will stopped to consider the consequences of giving him a more truthful response. 

Did music history really interest him, or did he just like the idea of engaging Hannibal in a conversation about something he knew he was passionate about? Only this morning, he’d begun the day with the notion that he could make Hannibal question his careful partitioning of their relationship, entice him to overstep the boundaries he’d put in place, and yet instead here he was only hours later. Apparently intent on blurring them himself. Frowning slightly, he shook his head, a single unwanted thought forming at the front of his mind.

_I am not in control of this situation._

“Will?”

_I am not in control of this situation._

Hannibal voice sought to break into his thoughts, and WIll fought back internally against it. 

The quiet sense of power he’d felt as Hannibal’s eyes had dragged wordlessly across his form as he’d entered the house that evening, the delicious feeling of being consumed by his gaze while he sat across from him at the table wreathed back through his awareness like warm mist, and rolling onto his side to face him, he fixed Hannibal with a calm unwavering stare.

“Would you like me to fuck you this evening?”

He watched as Hannibal’s pupils blew wide in real time, the iris around the velvety black centre narrowing to a thin deep gold band he could almost slip on his finger.  Leaning forward fractionally, he closed his eyes so his lashes were the only thing Hannibal could see, brushing thick and dark on his cheekbones, drawing his gaze down towards his lips.

“I know you fantasize about it. Being taken. Every time you turn your back to me, every time you lean forward, stretching yourself out for me. Willing me to do it,” lifting his chin slightly, he laid his cheek alongside his and inhaled deeply the scent of the other man, “Jesus, sometimes I think I can _smell_ it on you.”

Hannibal’s lips parted slightly, the tip of his tongue visible pressing against the back of his teeth as he looked back at him with fathomless, hungry eyes. Will could almost hear him vibrating inside his skin.

“What does it smell like?”

“It’s hard to describe,” moving his lips to the curve of bone behind his ear, Will brushed against the surface, “it’s like…I imagine the way water smells when you’re dying of thirst.”

Hannibal’s eyes closed too now, his breath leaving him in a low soft sound,

“Like an answered prayer.”

“Mmhm.”

Reaching his open palm to rest on his hip, Will stroked a slow circle with his thumb into the hollow of Hannibal’s pelvis.

“You want to feel me inside you. Every bit as much as I want to be there, don’t you?”

And this time there was no answer, just the slow drawing in of his lower lip between his teeth, the tiniest movement of acknowledgement, and then they were up and moving. Fast and breathless and deliberate and - to anyone who was watching them as they made their way across the chamber to the back - intensely fucking obvious. 

There was no locked room this time, no private space where they could take their time, no teasing words or quiet, subtle shifting of power. No toys. No straps. Nothing between them but breath and saliva, and then the urgent insistent press of fingers into tight, knotted flesh.  Moving him forward bodily into an darkened alcove between the CGI waterfall and the fire exit, Will shoved Hannibal’s shirt up and around his shoulders and spread himself over his back like paint as he worked his hand purposefully under the waistband at the back of his pants. Reaching back quickly into the back pocket of his own, he extracted the tube of lube he'd tucked in there earlier, and snapped open the top. Ducking his head, Hannibal darted his eyes to the side, seeming suddenly mindful of the bar staff he knew were only feet away.

“Through that door there's another place...”

"So?"   
  
With a dry huff of laughter Will drizzled his open palm with some of the cool liquid, let Hannibal see it.

"Someone may see us here."

_“Good._ ” 

His fingertips pressed into the hot tight ring of muscle, and then skated his teeth over his shoulder blade as he felt it begin to give way to him, 

“I _want_ them to see. I want everyone here to know what you’re letting me do to you.” 

A low moan curled from Hannibal’s chest that Will felt through his whole body and, encouraged, he pushed in further. Two slick fingers now. Up to the knuckles.

"They probably just think it's you anyway. Doing what you do here. How many times have they seen it before?" he shifted his feet between Hannibal's, pushing his legs further apart, "They all know you don't they? The mysterious man in black, who just takes whatever he wants, whoever he wants. That little girl in the mask room, that pretty doorman, they're all in fucking _awe_ of you."

Hannibal hummed deep in his throat, his breath hitching as Will twisted his fingers inside him, opening him wider.

"And you? Are you...also 'in awe of me'?"  
  
Will stretched his neck, and pressed an open-mouthed kiss between his shoulder blades. The fine tremor running through the other man's body was delicious, and feeling it intensify with every movement of his fingers inside him was addictive.

"In awe? No. I just fucking _want_ you. The exact same amount as you want me."

Hannibal expelled a breath then, a long stuttering sound. He appeared to being trying to twist enough to see his face.

“Will, I want to…”

“This isn't about what _you_ want right now.” 

Clumsily freeing and slicking up his own dick, Will yanked down the back of Hannibal’s breeches, adding the pressure of the soft thick head to Hannibal's hole alongside his fingertips. He was painfully hard now but Hannibal felt impossibly tight, as if there was no way he could ever allow Will entry. The rigid tension in his back and legs was evident and making a sudden snap decision, he reached out for the long bar of the fire exit door beside them, pressed it down and then pushed them both through it in the same movement. 

The silence in the small chamber outside was deafening as it closed behind them.  It took Will a moment or two for his eyes to adjust, but when they did he almost laughed at what he saw. Stepping backwards away from him, Hannibal’s mouth was open, panting, stretched in a knowing grin.  Behind him a crumbling brick archway was flanked by a set of low stone steps, and it was onto these he sank now. Pulling his boots and breeches off fully, he reclined with his back resting against the remains of a ruined stone altar, one long leg stretched out in front of him.

“They built this place on the ruins of an old church. Not much left now, but I thought you might enjoy the setting.”

Stepping between his ankles, Will pushed at one of his feet with a boot.

“Most…appropriate.”

Hannibal’s hand reached for him then, pulling him down, and Will sank. Knees first, then forward onto his hands, then forward with his hips, pushing himself deep inside him while Hannibal shifted and hissed his name and pressed bared teeth into his shoulder. He kept sinking until he couldn’t go any further. 

The intensity of the pressure and heat of him was insane, the feeling of his thighs, hair scratching and clamped on either side of his hips, the damp silk of his shirt and his breath pulsing against the stretch of his throat. It was all just too fucking much, and Will had to move. Had to draw himself back out a little way, just to look, to be sure he was really inside him and that the low, feral sounds he was drawing from him were really coming from his lips. 

“How do I feel?” he asked him, as he drew back again. A second time. A third, a fourth, slowly building an ascending rhythm and watching Hannibal come apart underneath his hands.

The sounds he was making didn’t sound like words, only a muttered repeated curse or a prayer in some language Will didn’t understand, but he bent to them any way, and offered him his ear. 

“Like God, Will. You feel like God.”

And Will shuddered and breathed and revelled in every gasping adoring word of praise, as he fucked him slowly and deliberately towards a snarling, ecstatic climax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is [Prelude: L'apres Midi D'un Faun](https://youtu.be/bYyK922PsUw) by Claude Debussy, which (if you've never listened to it) is quite the most beautiful piece of music ever. So please please do.


	7. Violence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will contemplates a history of violence and Hannibal goes hunting.

Although it was almost 25 years ago now, Will could still remember clearly the first time he’d walked into a crime scene and recognised the smell of blood. On some very basic level of course, he supposed he had always been able to identify that particular scent. Although it wasn’t a recollection he could consciously recall, he knew that there had to have been a first time he’d cut himself, a first time he sucked beads of scarlet from a wound, and filed the unique, coppery-sweet taste away as an important one. Blood was, after all, a basic component of life, the thing that drove and animated every meat machine that walked the Earth. The thing he found a little disturbing though, was how familiar he’d always found it.

The first crime scene that had crystallised it for him had been covered floor to ceiling. Still a rookie, with less than six months on the job under his belt, he’d already seen more than a few fresh bodies - auto wrecks, drownings, even a murder-suicide - but as he’d walked into the row house on Delaware that day the assault on his senses had been overwhelming. At first his mind had refused to read all that red as blood - perhaps someone had thrown marinara sauce wildly about the apartment - but even as one side of his brain had quietly offered this innocent explanation, the other was darkly, silently speaking the truth to him. 

Because Will knew what blood smelled like, didn’t he?  And now he knew what an entire room swimming in blood smelled like.  It smelled as if someone had created a full-sized, all-sensory painting of the inside of his head.

Will had learned pretty early on to keep the contents of his mind hidden, to never honestly answer questions like ‘what do you dream about?, or to really believe his teachers when they told him he was ‘free to write about anything he felt like’. His dad had never _consciously_ made him feel like a freak, he knew that, but neither had he tried to hide his expression of unease whenever Will accidentally forgot to remember to keep the darker thoughts to himself. Will loved animals, was quiet, respectful and bookish, and largely avoidant of trouble, but every now and then Beau Graham would catch a glimpse of something in his son’s eyes that made him question how much of his mama’s DNA the boy had inherited.

Will didn’t know a whole lot about his mother’s family, and what he did know had been gleaned largely from overheard whispers at church picnics and from kids at his school whose parents liked to drink with dinner. Suzie Bordelon had been a wild but pretty little thing from a sprawling Creole family, notorious throughout the swamplands for their home-brewed moonshine and unpredictable tempers. Suzie herself had stabbed the town’s prize quarterback in the thigh on her sixteenth birthday - reportedly after he’d offered to deflower her as a birthday gift - and when the police had tried to haul her away the entire clan had kicked off, leaving more than one local officer with life-changing injuries. 

As a consequence of his dubious lineage, Will had felt the suspicious eyes of his classmates’ parents on him far more often than felt fair, considering his exemplary grades and soft-spoken manners. Maybe, Will sometimes considered, it was partly that fact, and partly his Dad’s constant dire reminders of the ‘impulses’ he might have to quell that had finally sent him wandering off into the shadows of himself. Will had, after all, been labelled as unstable since birth, so it might have seemed inevitable that he would eventually find himself drawn towards a life of violence. Even if, ultimately, it was as a student rather than a perpetrator.

For many years, the role of FBI profiler had given him the perfect excuse to keep his dark thoughts private from those close to him: he had to maintain confidentiality, keep the details of his work separate from his private life, he had to ‘compartmentalise’. The only difficulty with this discipline was that, once he had carefully locked away all of the parts of himself he felt he needed to keep hidden, there was very little left of Will Graham for anyone else to latch on to. As a consequence, romantic relationships generally never lasted much past three months, the usual complaint being that he was ‘obsessed with work’, ‘didn’t communicate his feelings’ or (most simplistically of all) he was _just too moody._

Hiding himself was how Will kept the few friends he had, so it was with some surprise that he first realised that his friendship with Hannibal seemed to work in the exact opposite way. The more Will slopped out over the edges, the more darkness he let seep out, the closer Hannibal seemed to draw. And not with the kind of professional fascination he’d sometimes mistaken for interest over the years, but with genuine warmth, open curiosity and recognition.  
  
That Will thought about killing people in technicolour-4D-with-surround-sound-and-subtitles was just the first course he’d served up for Hannibal’s consideration though. What he was now allowing himself to share - outside of their sessions, disguised and in a setting almost manufactured for the purpose - was infinitely riskier for him. The visits to ‘Volto Larva’, that had started simply as a means of getting him out of his head, now seemed to be channelling some of his most deeply hidden impulses.

Will had no issue whatsoever with the sudden increase in his sex drive, or the fact he now spent more time thinking about fucking than methods of murder, what did worry him though was how the sex seemed to be getting progressively more and more dangerous.

Sat at his desk at Quantico, staring blankly at a stack of papers after a very long day, Will couldn’t help but sigh at the irony. Because of course this was exactly the sort of thing that Hannibal would have been able to help him with in the past, listening to him intently with his steady gaze, before calmly reassuring him that everything he was feeling was perfectly natural and normal. Dropping forward to rest his forehead on his desk, Will closed his eyes and let his shoulders slump with bone-deep weariness. He was still in the same position when the soft sound of someone clearing their throat jerked him upright.

“Hey…Will?” 

Jack’s eyes showed puzzlement and more than a hint of concernat finding him the way he had, 

“Is everything ok? You look beat.”

Will started to offer reassurance, but then his eyes were arrested by the sight of the manilla folder tucked under Jack’s arm. Part of him didn’t want to ask, but another part knew that not asking would only prolong the inevitable.

“Is that for me?”

Jack Crawford seemed to stir as if from another train of thought, and for a moment Will thought he detected a trace of guilt in his face. If he did though it was quickly gone, like so many of the emotions that Jack had deemed useless to him in pursuit of his goals.

“I wanted you to just take a look, is all. Serial rapist, not your usual brand of crazy I know, but the ball got dropped on this one and now BPD are running out of ideas, so I said we’d offer a consult.”

“Got dropped how?”

Frowning, Will pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and motioned for the file. Leaning his bulk against the side of Will’s desk, Jack’s eyebrows drew together in a knot, he seemed to be trying to summarise something particularly difficult. 

“Forensics screwed up, missed some vital evidence first time round. Meanwhile the guy - Foley - got himself an expensive lawyer who convinced the judge he wasn’t a flight risk. Now there’s an airtight case, but a perp no-one can find. I was hoping maybe you could read over the history, offer some idea where they might start looking for this shitheel.”

Will blinked with mild surprise, he’d never heard Jack curse out a suspect before, and the venom he’d injected into the word was palpable. Speed reading the descriptions of his many attacks, he flipped the page to his mugshot and immediately understood why. Something about Aaron Foley’s face, the sneering expression of arrogant superiority, sent a hot spike of anger straight through Will’s chest and he found himself tensing his jaw with a mixture of disgust and frustration. Attempting to focus, he flipped back through the notes from his first interview, then the ones on his social habits.

“Seems like he spends every spare moment of every day stalking potential victims. It’s more than an obsession for him, it’s an addiction, so he won’t be able to stay inside for long. 

He’ll be out on the streets again tonight, but somewhere private, expensive, members only, probably a little way away from his usual hunting grounds. I’d check the most exclusive places first, look for brand new members between 25 and 30. He won’t lie about his age. Cross-check any potential hits against his credit card numbers, he’d be smart enough to use an alias.”

He handed the file back to Jack, who gave him a small curt nod.

“Thanks. I’ll let you know what they turn up. Now for god’s sake, go home and get some sleep will you? You look like crap.”

After he’d left, Will stared at the pile of papers for a minute or two more before sweeping them off the desk and into his top drawer. Jack was right, he _was_ beat but underneath that now there was something very likely to work in opposition to the feeling, an intense geiger-counter-like crackle of something red and quietly furious. It was still relatively early, and Will still the new shirt and pants in his locker, there was nothing to stop him spending a few hours checking out a few of the places in Baltimore he knew Foley would consider good hunting grounds, and help the guys at Violent Crimes out. 

His fingers reached for the cell in his pocket and thumbed the screen open, before pausing to palm it loosely. Strictly speaking he wasn’t officially involved, and getting clearance from the lead detective would probably take a while, then there was the fact that he’d be expected to liaise with the other members of the investigating team, follow orders, go where he was told. And besides, when it came down to it, Will had always preferred to work alone on this sort of thing, conscious as he was of how others viewed him when he was…focused.

 

∞

 

Of course the hour or two quickly turned into three then four, and before Will knew it it was almost ten thirty at night. At eight he’d called the service he occasionally used for the dogs and asked them to call round and feed and let them out, trying not to feel guilty about how often he’d done it in the last month. He’d hit three places already, flashing Foley’s Tinder picture to barmen, and had found at least one where he was a semi-regular at. 

He was just leaving the fourth club on Charles Street, when his cell buzzed to life in his breast pocket

_Looking for anyone in particular Virgil?_

The sender’s number wasn’t in his contacts and it took a solid second for Will to realise who it was texting him. Frowning slightly, he tapped out a reply.

**Are you keeping tabs on me?**

There was a brief pause, then two short messages one after another. 

_I have a wide social circle._

_And somewhat of a vested interest._  

A smile pulled at the corners of Will’s mouth. The area outside the club was fairly quiet, only a few couples waiting for their Ubers, and it was a strange feeling to be standing there exchanging flirtatious texts like he was one of them.

S **hould I take that as a compliment?**

Another moment or two passed and then:

_By all means._

_Although that wasn’t exactly what I was implying._

Staring at the glowing screen with confusion, Will re-read Hannibal’s last message several times, before realisation slowly crept in. Taking a moment or two to consider what he was asking, he carefully worded a reply. 

**I’m not the the one you were keeping tabs on?**

The response was immediate and succinct.

_No._

The part of Will’s brain that usually made connections seemed to stall out and stutter to a halt. Hannibal was looking for Aaron Foley too, had apparently asked at least one bartender to keep his eyes open for him and report back if he saw any sign. The only thing he couldn’t understand was why.

**What’s your interest?**

Another second and then:

_A mutual acquaintance was concerned about his whereabouts._

The tense Hannibal had used had to be deliberate, everything he did was deliberate, and reading the message Will felt a slight chill as he realised what it very possibly meant.

**Is he at Volto Larva?**

The reply finally came through just as Will was pulling away from his parking spot, and glancing down at his phone on the passenger seat he cursed softly as he read it.

_Tick tock Virgil. Looks like he’s already found himself a suitable companion._

_You might want to hurry._

 

∞

 

Shouldering his way into the club, Will almost didn’t bother with a mask, it was only Zoe’s indignant yelp that pulled him up short and sent him back to the entrance to take it from her outstretched hand.

“Sorry! Club rules man. Don’t make me flag you.”

The Sixth Circle was at the bottom of a flight of stone steps at the rear of the main room, constructed around what Will now knew were the ruins of an old church. This wasn’t immediately obvious though, as the room’s floors and walls were rendered from floor to ceiling with red leather, giving the whole place an unsettling resemblance to meat. Alex, the only member of the bar staff Will knew by name, nodded a greeting as he approached him. 

“If you’re looking for your friend, he’s out the back with some asshole who couldn’t keep his hands to himself,” handing him a scotch, Alex gave him a small grin, “Tell him when he’s done the girl said to say thanks.”

The back of the chamber opened into a corridor full of private rooms, in much the way the Wrath room had, and it took Will a minute or two to realise that all but two of them were empty. The noises from the first were very definitely female, but when he pressed his ear to the third door he heard the low regular sounds of male moaning, then another voice he would have recognised even through plate steel. Making a fist, Will knocked sharply on the surface with his knuckles and after a moment it cracked open.

Aaron Foley was strapped face-forward to the St. Andrews Cross, his shirt torn in half from neck to waist, and sweat running freely down a back crisscrossed with lurid red marks. Behind him, Hannibal stood dressed in his usual black attire, a long flexible cane held firmly in one hand and a welcoming smile on his face.

“Good Evening, Virgil. I was just telling Mr. Foley that we were expecting company,” flexing the cane, he cut through air with a bright swishing sound, “I imagine he’s growing tired of me already. I can become rather fixated on certain subjects.”

“Ha—” 

Will’s mouth opened, and then snapped shut again before the other two syllables could make it out. Something red was beating at the base of his skull, and he was suddenly filled with a confusing mix of emotions he had no idea how to pick apart. 

What Hannibal was doing here was crazy. Aaron Foley was a suspect in a major case, currently being sought by half of Violent Crimes, and here he was being casually tortured by someone directly connected to the FBI’s consulting agent. As soon as Foley was set free, he would go straight to the BPD with a description of Hannibal, and the club would be forced to confirm his identity, sending the whole carefully built case straight to hell.

Will was still running through every detail of the utter fucking mess this potentially was, when the man strapped to the wall spoke up.

“Whatever you fucking fags think you’re going to do here, you better consider your next move very carefully. _Very fucking carefully_. Do you hear me? You think you’re fucking brave, tying a guy up to hit him? Let me down from this thing and then we’ll see who’s the fucking tough one.” 

Foley’s voice was loud and steady, and had anyone else heard him they might have been convinced of his confidence but, unluckily for him, Will Graham was not just anyone. He could hear the fear and uncertainty permeating Foley’s every word, and the sound of it - knowing what he had done - was intoxicating. 

Narrowing his eyes, Will took a step towards him and bent his head sideways so he could look him directly in the face.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut the fuck up right now.”

“ _Fuck you fag!!_ ”

Will’s eyes narrowed slightly more.

“What’s a matter? Are you worried someone might take a picture? Sully your spotless alpha-male predator record? Or are you just worried one of us is going to notice you’ve pissed your pants?”

Flushing deeply, Foley yanked at the wrist restraints. His arrogant sneering face was marginally less arrogant right now, but it still made Will’s skin crawl just to look at him, let alone engage him in any semblance of conversation.

“ _Fuck you!_ I will fucking _end_ you when I get out of this! Both of you!”

Curling his lip with disgust, Will turned away to face Hannibal, who was watching him with a expression bordering on delight.

“This acquaintance of yours, the one you said wanted to know where he was, was she one of his victims?”

“Her father. His daughter was unfortunate enough to make Mr. Foley’s acquaintance not long after her graduation last year,” flexing the cane, Hannibal stepped towards the cross again, “She committed suicide not long afterwards.”

Foley let out a low wail,

“You cocksuckers can’t pin that on me. That chick was fucking crazy before I ever went near her. Couldn’t handle a few comments on Facebook, so she checked herself out like the loser she was.”

Although his face was impassive as always, Will could clearly see the anger contained in every line of Hannibal’s muscular body as he dropped his shoulder and prepared to land another blow on Foley’s exposed skin. Stepping forward before he could fully raise the cane, Will laid a hand on his forearm.

“Ha—,” he caught himself again, just as Hannibal’s eyes locked with his, barely contained fury licking at the edges, “Don’t. You have to stop this. It’s going to..it’ll fuck with the case, you have to know that?”

The scent of the other man’s skin was thick in his nostrils, pulsing with anger, and Will felt warm unsteady breath against his throat. Holding his gaze for a moment, Hannibal looked down at the fingers still encircling his forearm before flicking over his lower lip with the tip of his tongue.

“Tell me dear Virgil, when you went hunting for Mr. Foley this evening, did you tell any one of our friends at the BPD what you were doing?”

Pursing his lips, Will let the hand resting on Hannibal’s arm drop to his side. He lifted his chin.

“You know I didn’t.”

“And why was that?”

Beside them, Foley pulled at the wrist restraints growling out another homophobic curse and, suddenly feeling icy calm, Will reached out and laid a palm wide and flat in the centre of his back. Foley jerked like he’d been stuck with a spear.

“Because…” he paused, knowing it was pointless to deny the truth to Hannibal of all people, “You know why. Because I wanted to find him first.”

A smile curved Hannibal’s lips, and brushing against Will’s other hand, he pressed the handle of the cane against it before moving behind him. Leaning in to pull the length of Will’s body against his own, he let his lips skim the back of one ear, whispering words no-one but he could hear.

“Why don’t you show me what you would have done. If you’d found him first.”

Foley’s sweat had painted the surface of his palm, and drawing it slowly away, Will wiped it on the leg of his pants. The man’s back in front of him was wide and flat, twitching with muscle and hot pink with the lines of Hannibal’s strokes, and staring at it a picture formed in Will’s mind. 

A picture that felt like 4D technicolour full-sized, all-sensory painting of the inside of his head.

_ “I don’t suppose you have a knife on you?” _

The first cut he made was fairly shallow, but from the sound of him Aaron Foley was entirely convinced he was being skinned alive.  Reaching to cup the back of his head, Will pressed his face forward firmly against the padded surface of the cross, and shushed him like a squawling baby. The smell of fresh blood pervaded his senses and for a moment he closed his eyes, the last tattered fragments of his sanity clamouring for his attention, and then Hannibal’s hands slid against his hips as he pressed himself tight against the curve of Will’s ass. Pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck, he smiled against his skin.

“Make sure you make the letters clear. It’s important it’s legible, don’t you think?”

The razor sharp point of the knife slid down, parting Foley’s flesh like a zipper, and Will watched in fascination as the blood sprung up and out, spilling down in vivid red lines over the quivering curves of his body. Putting his head on one side, he steadied himself with a hand thrown back to Hannibal’s hip, drawing the solid bulk of him closer.

“You know what would be _really_ amazing?”

His voice had a soft sing-song quality that he hardly recognised, that sounded stranger still overlaid as it was by Aaron Foley’s high pitched shrieking.

“If you fuck me as I do this.”

He didn’t need to ask twice. Hannibal’s fingers had already found their way under his waistband, unable to stop themselves from exploring Will’s body with the insatiable hunger he always seemed to possess. Pulling down his pants, he dropped to his knees behind him, pressing his thighs apart with insistent hands, and when his tongue licked a warm, wet stripe along his perineum, Will had to hold himself steady with one hand flat on the slick bloody mess of Foley’s back.

“ _Fuck…_ ”

Several minutes slid by in warm velvet haze of sensation, and then the faint familiar sound of a tube of lubrication being cracked open and then Hannibal’s voice was soft and amused behind him, as he pressed thick slippery fingertips into the rigid muscle of Will’s hole. Standing up, he placed the slicked-up head of his cock against his only very slightly stretched entrance and moved his hips forward. 

“I thought you wanted me to do this while you were cutting?”

Opening his mouth to reply, Will had the breath driven out of him in a full-throated gasp as Hannibal pushed himself inside. Gripping the handle of the knife in his hand, he felt his thighs begin to tremble. Hannibal’s dick felt impossibly big inside him, like he was filling him up entirely, and with his hand wrapped firmly around Will’s own erection, it was like he was entirely enclosed in him. Wrapped in an embrace that seemed to encompass his whole being.

“Keep going Will. I want us both to finish at the same time.”

His hand unsteady now, Will raised the knife again. Foley had finally passed out so the remaining letters weren’t nearly as hard as the first few, but as he added the cross-stroke to the last the speed and strength of Hannibal’s rhythm increased so that, true to his word, they did indeed finish together. Spilling hot and messy over his hand, Will let the knife fall to the floor in the lake of crimson at their feet and reached back to pull Hannibal deeper as he came, a harsh growl of satisfaction escaping his lips as he spent himself inside his lover’s body. 

Struggling for breath, Will leaned back against him bonelessly and felt the hot, red feeling that had filled him to the brim all day receding to nothing. Like a bath someone had pulled the plug on, he suddenly felt entirely empty, and lifting his head he surveyed his handiwork with a calm that surprised even him. 

The letters were each around two inches high and not so deep that they’d cause the piece of trash that bore them any real long term problems, as long as he kept them clean while they healed and didn’t do anything too strenuous for the next few weeks. One thing was certain though. They sure as fuck were going to scar.

Frowning critically, Will touched the letter ’T' that had suffered a little as a result of Hannibal’s distraction.  
  
“Should I have done it on his chest do you think? Maybe it would have been better than his back. Earlier warning system?”  
  
Hannibal’s lips pressed against the back of his neck fondly.  
  
“I think Mr. Foley is unlikely be attempting to entice any more young women to his bed for some time, don’t you?”

His hand at Will’s waist felt cool and firm, but as he stroked the other soothingly up the length of his spine, a troubling realisation entered Will’s head and then refused to shift.

_ He could have killed Aaron Foley tonight.  _

He had felt it in every fibre of his being as he’d slid the point of the knife into his back, and every time he’d drawn back to begin another letter. He could have killed him, easily and quickly, slashed his throat and let him bleed out, and he would have felt no more guilt about it than he did now for cutting up his back.

And Hannibal knew it. Hannibal had seen and felt everything he had, Jesus, Hannibal had been _inside him_ as he’d felt it. And by allowing him that access, by allowing himself to overflow so completely in the way that he just had in front of him, Will realised with a deep uneasy chill he had never made himself more vulnerable to another human being in his entire life.


	8. Fraud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will questions reality and Hannibal enjoys his games.

“I think there may be something seriously wrong with me.”

The words tumbled out of Will’s mouth before he had time to consider whether to externalise this particular inner voice or not, and gripping the edge of Hannibal’s desk, he leant back against it heavily. 

It had been over a week since the evening they’d spent with Aaron Foley, and the strain of waiting for the blowback from their actions had meant he’d barely slept more than a few scant hours every night. Foley had been picked up by the BPD in the early hours of the next morning after their anonymous tip-off and was now being held awaiting trial, but so far no other information had reached Will’s ears. He’d done some cautious digging via his contacts in uniform to ascertain that ‘Volto Larva’ wasn’t now under surveillance and that no-one had been sent to question the staff, and as far as he could tell nothing seemed to be happening there either. Whether Foley had chosen not to say anything, or if the BPD was paying lip-service to an investigation into his attack, he had no way of knowing. The idea that he and Hannibal would simply get away with what they’d done was an idea he couldn’t seem to accept though, and every night that week he’d found himself lying wide-eyed throughout the night, seeing the blood running down Foley’s back on a vivid internal loop inside his head. Which would have been far less disturbing if not for the rock hard erection he’d maintained throughout.

Watching him from his chair, Hannibal smiled the kind of mild, curious smile he always gave Will when he suddenly changed tack mid conversation, and folded his hands calmly in his lap.

“I imagine that’s something we’ve all believed at one time or another,” his eyebrows drew together, “Our idea of what constitutes normality is almost entirely dependent on the company we keep though, and as such is subjective. What you see as ‘seriously wrong’, I may very well view as entirely usual.”

An abrupt laugh startled from Will’s throat and he covered his mouth with his palm. Shaking his head, he narrowed his eyes as he looked at the other man.

“Oh I don’t doubt that.”

Hannibal’s expression smoothed into a blank slate and he crossed his legs. In the long silence that followed, Will found himself staring fixedly at the other man’s fingers, the same long slender digits that days ago had been buried inside him as Aaron Foley’s flesh had parted under the point of his knife.

“Is there something you want to tell me Will?”

The timbre of Hannibal’s voice had dropped and the low resonance of the words sent a shiver through his body that Will couldn’t hide. Drawing himself up a little, he met his eyes and sucked in a short, shallow breath.

“Yes. I’ve been meaning to tell you…” 

He paused, still unsure whether continuing on this path was a wise choice or not, but then somewhere between the breath and another internal replay of Foley’s carved-up back, he made up his mind.

“I...uh...I started seeing someone.”

Hannibal’s bright hazel eyes remained steadily and placidly locked with his own, but his eyebrows raised a little. Leaning back, he gave a small nod of acknowledgment.

“I’m very glad to hear it.”

Will’s grip on the edge of the desk tightened fractionally. He hated how Hannibal’s face looked, the warm pleasant expression of interest he’d assumed, his casual relaxed posture in his chair. He looked for all the world like any therapist pleased that his hapless client had finally found romance. Forcing himself to look back at him, Will felt a hot curl of anger in his chest and he fought to keep his expression as neutral as the other man’s.

“You don’t seem that surprised.”

Hannibal inclined his head slightly, and if he sensed Will’s irritation he gave no sign of it.

“I’ll admit, I had divined that you’d developed a personal relationship of some kind - that you were reluctant to speak of - but beyond that I don’t imagine I’d drawn any definite conclusions,” his tongue flicked out to moisten his bottom lip, “Can I ask…what your reason was for not raising the subject before now? I would hate to hear that it was because you feared my disapproval.”

A curious smile pulled at the corners of Will’s lips. It wasn’t as if he expected Hannibal to admit anything to him in this setting any more, even obliquely, but the other man’s perfect composure really was something to marvel at. Having spent most of his adult life struggling to hide his own internal dialogue from those around him, he couldn’t help but admire at how masterful Hannibal was at maintaining his cover. Amused and irritated by equal turns now, he continued to study his features for any sign of a tell.

“I didn’t say anything… because I didn’t think there was any need to.”

Hannibal’s lips quirked, his eyelids lowering for a second.

“I feel I must question your faith in me Will. Although I do consider myself to have above average observational skills in regard to my clients, I have yet to develop abilities even close to your own.”

“Mine?”  
  
“I cannot read your mind. Unless you explicitly tell me something, I cannot know it as fact,” looking down, he brushed imaginary dust from his pant’s legs, “I can only notice, deduce, and wait to see if you choose to speak.”

Will pushed himself off from the desk with a frown. Stepping back to his chair he sank down into it, allowing his hands to settle on the arms. The tension in his lower back was still there, but his breathing relaxed as it always did sat opposite Hannibal, and he had the sudden strange impression that they had momentarily become mirror images of each other. Both ostensibly truthful, but both still hiding from each other. 

“What _did_ you notice? Exactly.” 

Will inclined his head at the exact same angle that Hannibal had moments before, and saw him recognise the movement for what it was. 

The other man lifted his chin, his eyes narrowing as if with recollection.

“Your gait has altered slightly over the last month. Your muscles appeared looser and your colour is better, as if your sleeping patterns have improved…”

“And as if I might be getting some?”

Hannibal’s lips stretched stiffly in a wry smile, “It wasn’t my initial thought, but after I observed the change in your grooming ritual, it did seem the obvious conclusion.”

Will pursed his lips, “My grooming ritual? You mean trimming my beard?”

“Yes, that. And your scent.”

“My…” 

His throat constricted. Hannibal’s nostrils had flared almost imperceptibly as he’d said the words, and now Will couldn’t take his eyes off them.

“I… _smelled_ different?” he asked softly.

“Yes.” 

The other man spoke the word a little gruffly, almost as if he were self-conscious. Smoothing a hand over the front of his waistcoat he gave a small, apologetic smile.

“Forgive me Will, I am by nature a curious man and as such I have developed my senses to provide me with as much information as possible about those I have an interest in. In my experience a person’s scent is one of the best indicators of their wellbeing, and so any change is an important marker.” 

His fingertips brushed over the leather upholstery of the chair, 

“Often when you come to your appointments your scent is a mixed accumulation of your bathing products, your workplace, the dogs. Sometimes river water. But the last few weeks there has been another element overlaying the others. A cologne that I would not normally have associated with your personal tastes.”

Will blinked at him slowly. The idea that Hannibal was so acutely aware of his personal smell was strange enough, but to have him name the various components so precisely filled him with an intense emotion he couldn’t place. He realised, not for the first time, how the deeply focused attention the other man gave him - in every situation - had become such an important part of his life, grounding him in reality at a time when he’d been feeling unmoored and unsafe.

“But now I realise my mistake. It wasn’t your cologne I was smelling.” 

Hannibal’s lips twitched upwards in a smile, and the index finger of his right hand tapped several times on his thigh as if he were considering something.  
  
“It’s mine, isn’t it?”

For a brief moment it felt as if all the air had been sucked from the room, and that all sound had disappeared along with it. Will’s knuckles tensed on the arms of the chair, his nails biting dully into the leather surface as he stared at Hannibal’s face in mute disbelief. Continuing to smile, the other man’s torso relaxed visibly into the cushioned back of the chair, his hands again taking their place gracefully in his lap.

“L’Occitane Cedrat. Although it’s not entirely identical, it’s the closest scent I could find to a French product I fell in love with in my youth, sadly no longer manufactured. Normally it would be instantly familiar to me, and yet on your skin I’ll admit I didn’t immediately recognise it.” 

Reaching for his glass of water, Hannibal turned his head slightly to the side, and Will had the impression of someone poised to make a particularly complex and artful chess move.

“I must admit though, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone else in this country who uses it. He’s an interesting man this new acquaintance of yours, Will. I should very much like to hear more about him.”

The clock on the desk ticked softly and unobtrusively between them, and sparing it a glance Will saw that only half their session had gone. He knew that, had he wanted to, Hannibal could have easily passed the rest of their time together in careful avoidance of their private lives, but today it seemed he was inviting him to talk albeit in a somewhat circuitous way. Leaning back in his own chair, Will cleared his throat, feeling apprehensive suddenly.

“What would you like to know?”

A look of warm amusement flitted across Hannibal’s face.

“Should we start with the obvious? Where did you meet him? At work?”

“No. Actually I met him at that club you recommended - Volto Larva,” he had to stop himself from drawling the words with sarcasm, “You piqued my interest that evening with your talk of ‘stimulating company’, so one day after work I went down there. I met him the first night. We’ve been meeting there ever since.”

“Just there, in the club? Not outside it?”

Will felt his jaw twitch with irritation at Hannibal’s question. The other man’s expression as he looked back at him was pleasant and guileless.

“Just there. We meet up and…” 

He opened and closed his mouth again, letting the sentence hang in mid air and watched as Hannibal regarded him steadily for a moment or two. There was nothing in his eyes that told him what the other man was thinking, no hint of the dark glittering intensity that was always so obvious through the sockets of the black mask, and suddenly Will had the strangest notion that this man - the man he had called a friend for months before his visits to the club had started - was actually somebody else entirely.

The thought ricocheted about inside his skull with sickening force as Hannibal continued to talk.

“So you’re saying this is just a purely physical encounter? You’re not in a…romantic relationship with this man?”

_You don’t know anything about me…_

“Will?”  
  
… _and I don’t know anything about you_

“Will?”  
  
_Of course, I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about my dear Virgil..._  
  
“What??”  
  
Snapping back to reality, Will realised that his head was suddenly pounding. Andthat Hannibal had asked him a question. His friend and therapist had asked him something with a look of gentle concern on his face, and suddenly he didn’t know how to answer him. Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, Will leant forward in his seat, a hot feeling of nausea building in his throat.

“I’m not…sure. I don’t…I’m not sure what it is.”

“But you feel something for him?”

“I…I thought I did,” 

Will heard the slight tremor in his own voice as if he was listening to it from outside himself, 

“Now I don’t know. I thought he was…was someone I knew, someone I trusted. Now I’m…I don’t know what I know.”

Hannibal’s voice, soft and conciliatory, seemed to come from miles away,

“I’m sorry Will. I didn’t mean to push you. I’m happy you’re sharing physical intimacy with someone you’re attracted to. I was only attempting to ascertain the depth of your connection to this…”

Pressing fingertips into his temples, Will screwed his eyes tightly shut. The image of the masked man he’d allowed into his body, into his head, who he’d daydreamed and lusted over for the last month, swam in front of his eyes, and for the first time since the whole episode had begun he was unable to marry it with that of the man now sat in front of him. 

“Danté,” he said softly through clenched teeth, “He said to call him Danté.”

  
∞

  
Alex. 

The barman, the tall Scandi-looking guy who he’d spoken to on the first night, he was the one Zoe had said had been at ‘Volto Larva’ the longest. He was the one Will needed to find, although for some reason, tonight was the first time he didn’t seemed to be on duty at any of the club’s bars. 

Stalking from one playroom to the next, Will pulled open one set of doors after the other, his eyes scouring the faces of the bar staff in each. He could see glances being exchanged by some of the other staff in his peripheral vision, but chose to ignore them until, just as he reached the fifth room, a hand descended lightly on his bicep. Turning sharply he met the slightly anxious smile of his doorman admirer, Zak.

“Hey…uh Will? You’re…uh…you’re kind of making management nervous. Are you OK?” 

The young man’s eyes appeared to study his face carefully, 

“Are you on something man? You look like you’re sick. Only they don’t like it here if you come in already loaded. Someone got cut up pretty bad in one of the playrooms the other week, and now we’re all supposed to be…extra _vigilant_ or some shit for…well…”

Will’s eyes narrowed. He could feel sweat trickling down over his mastoid bone despite the room being air-conditioned, and his head pounded. Zak’s expression showed none of its usual easy warmth, only a jumpy kind of anxiety that seemed to be only a beat away from asking him to leave. Forcing himself to sound calmer than he felt, Will affected a reassuring smile.

“I’m fine. Sorry, I was just trying to find Alex. Have you seen him?”

“Alex?” Zak looked relieved for a moment, “He’s…uh. I think he’s in The Eighth Circle tonight. He isn’t normally, but one of the twins called in sick tonight and he’s covering for h…”

“Thanks.”

Leaving him standing with his mouth still open, Will walked purposefully across the main room of Limbo towards the eighth playroom, the door of which - he noticed as he approached - was decorated with writhing snakes. As he drew closer it seemed they began to move, each coil twisting and curling around the next, their oily scales glowing dull green in the low light and small eyes glittering. Pain throbbed dully at the base of Will’s skull, and shaking his head he pressed his fingertips deeply into his temples. When he looked again, the snakes were just carvings in solid dark wood.

Pushing down on the handles, he leant his weight against the doors and stepped through them. After the stark reds and whites of the Violence room and the dark enchantment of the forest-like Heresy room, the eighth room at first seemed a bit of a disappointment. Far closer to a conventional nightclub than any of the other playrooms, it was small with a dance floor, a long straight bar, even the kind of music that average people liked to dance to. After casting a look around though, Will realised that the shape and dimensions of the place were completely misleading, as every surface, the floor and ceiling included, was mirrored. The number of people currently inside the place was impossible to guess as, depending on where you looked, there were either fifty or two hundred bodies in two parallel rooms or eight facing ones. 

Walking towards the bar, he had to pause a moment before approaching Alex to make sure it wasn’t just his reflection.

“Hey buddy, what can I get you?”

The man’s pleasant handsome face turned to face him, and for a millisecond Will thought he saw a flash of alarm.

“Hey. Virginia Black, right?”

His arm moved smoothly to the shelf behind him, uncorking the bottle and pouring it with an unhurried ease that should have been entirely convincing, but something about the corded muscle in his neck as he bent over the glass told different story.

“Alex, right?”

Taking it from him, Will took a mouthful and let the warm liquid spill over the back of his tongue. The barman gave him a small nod, his eyes darting away to his next customer.

“That’s right. Sorry buddy, I’ve got to…”

He started to move but Will’s hand descended on his wrist before he’d even realised he’d lifted his arm. Looking down at it, Alex’s face clouded. His blue-grey eyes slid up to meet Will’s, and there was no small measure of steel in them,   
  
“Sir? Would you mind?”

Uncurling his fingers, Will moved his hand slowly away but kept his gaze locked with his.

“The man I meet in here, the one in the black mask you called my friend last time I saw you. Do you know who he is?”

Alex’s posture straightened slightly, moving his shoulders back to draw attention to their width and the fact he was easily twice Will’s size. Gripping the edge of the bar, he leaned in, keeping his voice low.

“Yeah, I know who he is. Why are you asking?”

Will could feel a muscle jumping involuntarily in his jaw as he looked back at him. Then, after a moment or two of tense silence, Alex drew in a long breath and appeared to give way a little.

“We’re not supposed to ask names here. But I know his. Malcolm Korda. He’s one of the owner’s silent partners, or that’s what I was told when I first started here.” 

“Mal…?” 

The name stuck in Will’s throat, and suddenly he was struggling to draw breath. When he looked down at his fingers clutching his glass, they were noticeably trembling. He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d been expecting to hear, maybe that no-one knew his name? But to receive such a prosaic answer, felt like a hard punch to the gut.  
  
“Who told you…” he forced the question out, “Who _told_ you that was his name?”

“I don’t know…one of the financiers? Someone.” Alex shrugged, “He’s a gold member, so I figured whoever said it was right, we’ve only got a handful of them. He sponsored you right? I figured you and he must be tight.”

It felt as if a hand was stretched around Will’s throat now, slowly squeezing off his air supply. All the saliva in his mouth had disappeared, and his tongue felt thick and dry in his mouth. Swallowing with difficulty, he stared back at the other man with a sudden fierce intensity.

“What about Hannibal Lecter? Do you know him? Dr. Hannibal Lecter? He’s a member here.”

Alex’s face was a blank, “I haven’t heard the name, and I think I’d remember that one. And if he was a full member, I’d know.”

“But Zak said…”

_What_ ** _had_** _Zak said?_

His brow furrowing deeply, Will tried to remember. The wide, white toothed smile, the knowing wink when he’d told Zak who’d sent him. 

_Oh well Jesus, if you’d said that when you’d come through the door…_

“He knows him. He said he was…he let me in the first night just because I dropped his name. And later he called him…he said _our mutual_ …”

The words died in Will’s mouth as Alex rolled his eyes, 

“Zak says he knows a lot of people. And maybe he does know him, or maybe he just knows his name means something. Zak’s big on doing favours for people he knows might do him favours, if you know what I mean.”

Pushing back from Will with a look that was a mix of wariness and pity, Alex sighed. 

“OK, I’m telling you this for nothing - and this is just my personal opinion - but unless you hadn’t already figured it out that guy Korda is bad news. You get a feeling for people working behind here, and I’ve never felt anything good from that one, not from the first. If you ask me, he’s dangerous,” he raised an eyebrow fractionally, “And no, I don’t just mean in the good way.” 

Holding his gaze meaningfully for a moment longer, his eyes left Will’s face to slide to a group of waiting customers and he shot him a tight-lipped smile of apology. 

“Sorry man. I can’t…I’ve gotta get back to work now,” and he shifted on his feet with a trace of unease, “Hey. I know I probably don’t have to say it but…”

“This was just between us.”

“I don’t know the guy, but he has sway here. And I like my job.”

He moved away and Will was left alone. Gripping the whiskey the barman had poured him, he stared into the facets of the glass with his thoughts in complete disarray. He screwed his eyes shut and tried again to visualise the face of his masked lover alongside that of Hannibal Lecter, but something wasn’t allowing him to focus and the images kept sliding away from him, dark and slippery and wet with blood and body fluids.

Draining his glass, he stood and let his eyes move around the room with heated intensity. He knew that Hannibal…Danté…Korda…whoever he was, wasn’t there. His presence was palpable in its absence, and it seemed to Will that all colour had been subtracted from a room as a result, leaving nothing in it of interest to him. Cursing himself silently for the thought, he rubbed at the base of his pounding skull and set his glass back on the bar with just enough force to pull Alex’s attention back to him.

Pulling his card from his wallet, Will slid it under the base of the glass.

“If he comes in. Call me. No matter how late it is. Call me and keep him here.”

Folding a fifty in half, he dropped it into the glass, and saw the other man frown at it before giving a small curt nod.

“I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try,” taking the note, he turned to add it to the tip jar behind him, “I just hope you know what you’re doing man.” 

Turning away from the bar towards the door, Will found he couldn’t think of a single word to offer him as reassurance.

  
∞

_Hannibal’s house at the end of the silent driveway was in darkness, and stepping up the steps into the porch, Will felt a chill of foreboding as he realised the heavy front door was standing partially open._

_Placing an outstretched hand on the carved surface, he pushed and watched as it swung slowly inwards._

_“Dr. Lecter?”_

_His own voice echoed back at him in the empty hallway, and suddenly anxious, Will reached down into his side holster and pulled his gun. The metal felt hot and surprisingly heavy in his hands, and for a moment he struggled to straighten his arm and hold it steady. From somewhere deep inside the house, he could hear a faint noise, a soft crackling and tapping, and moving towards it he searched the darkness for any movement._

_As he reached the door of the study, he paused. Inside he could see the flicker of firelight, shadows dancing across the polished wood floor, but from the interior there was nothing, just soft cloying dark and the familiar smell of Hannibal’s home. Cedar and lavender and then suddenly Hannibal himself, the particular combination of shampoo and soap over skin that could now cause Will’s dick to stir even just thinking about it. Edging slowly forward, he slid sideways through the doorway, eyes darting and gun turned automatically to the places attack could come from, before his eyes scanned the room and found Hannibal._

_Stretched out and bound lengthways on a long low table in front of the fire, his friend’s face was turned towards him in the golden firelight, his lips slightly parted._

_“Will? Is that you?”_

_His voice was low and urgent, and with a start of surprise Will realised that he was blindfolded. Stepping closer, he searched anxiously in the darkened corners of study._

_“Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.”_

_He tugged with one hand at the length of silk that covered Hannibal’s face, while his eyes continued to search the shadows. Breathing unevenly, he felt the other man’s lips brush the back of his hand, his voice unsteady._

_“Untie me, Will. Quickly. Please.”_

_“Is he still here?”_

_“Who?”_

_“Whoever…did this to you."_

_Will’s forearm ached, his head pounded. Forcing himself to hold his arm straight, the gun locked rigid, he looked down at Hannibal in confusion._

_Laid out beneath him on the table, a black masked face looked back. The white glimmer of teeth, and then soft full lips were closing over his fingertips, sucking them deep into scorching hot wetness. Gasping, Will felt the weight of the gun in his right hand dragging it down, pinning it to his side with gravity._

_“Hannibal…?”_

_“Kiss me, Will.”_

_The soft raw sound of his voice around Will’s fingers dragged a low moan from his throat, and rocking forward on the balls of his feet, Will felt the warm flutter of breath against his lips a moment before they were set upon by his hot open mouth, tongue pushing into him with a hungry urgency._

_A body pressed into him from behind then, the long warm length of a torso draping over him like a blanket, and still his mind didn’t question it. Familiar hands moved under his waistband at the back of his pants, slender fingers raking their nails along the flesh of his buttocks while, at his front, the lips of his Danté were joined by two more hands at Will’s jaw, tenderly framing his face, stroking along his cheekbone._

_The nudge of a thick cock at the curve of his ass, hands hard and bruisingly firm on his hips._

_A gentle set of fingers freeing his erection and reaching down to cup and stroke at his balls._

_Somewhere, someone laughed softly, and Will felt the heat of arousal rushing up to flood his belly._

_“Fuuck…”_

_And two voices answered him, each speaking into one of his ears in perfect synchronicity._

_“You’re so beautiful Will…”_

_“…so beautiful.”_

_And then his eyes were staring into fathomless glittering dark ones, as a hand curled under the fabric of his shirt to press firmly, insistently into the flesh of his chest._

_Again._

_And again._

_And again._

  
∞

And Will’s phone was vibrating.

Peeling his face from the surface of the Volvo’s back seat, he cursed softly as he pulled his deadened right arm out from underneath his body and tried to roll onto his back. Fingers cramping up, he pulled his cell from his breast pocket and brought it up to his ear.

“…Hello?”

Alex’s voice was muffled and tense sounding, behind him Will could hear the shrieks and laughs of the clientele, the rattle of a cocktail shaker.

“He’s here. Mal Korda. I don’t know how long for, he doesn’t seem too interested in what’s on offer tonight. You should probably get here asap.”

Pulling the phone back from his ear to check the time, Will hesitated for a moment, before Alex’s voice cut in again, tiny and irritated sounding.

“Hey, Graham? Did you hear me? Should I tell him you’re coming or what? Shall I tell him to wait for you?”

And Will heard himself answer, although the voice didn’t sound a lot like his. Sounded way too calm and measured to be his, given how his heart was thrashing in his chest and the blood was pounding in his ears now.

“No,” he said softly, “Don’t tell him I’m coming. I want to surprise him.”


	9. Treachery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will tries to figure out what the fuck he really wants, and Hannibal ties up loose ends

**** Will couldn’t be sure but it seemed to him that in the three hours he’d spent asleep on the back seat of his car waiting for Alex’s call, the atmosphere inside ‘Volto Larva’ had noticeably altered. The subtle scent that always seemed to pervade the place was suddenly far stronger, and now even in the main room - away from the Circle chambers - the air seemed laced with the same mist that was a permanent feature elsewhere. HIs head already pounding with what felt like the start of a migraine, he felt an uneasy sense of claustrophobia as he descended the steps back into the club. The noise and movement in the room was almost overwhelming to him now, as if the volume control had been turned up on the whole place, and it was everything he could do to force his way through the bodies towards the room he’d met Alex in earlier that night. 

As he neared the doors though, he noticed one of the two silver-haired twins standing there - sans mask - scanning the crowd. When she saw him, her eyes widened.

“Hey, are you Alex’s friend?”

For a fleeting moment he thought she was going to bring up their brief encounter on his first night, but then realised to his slight chagrin that she either didn’t remember or didn’t recognise him.

“He told me to tell you the guy you’re looking for is in Ninth now, in Treachery. He has to stay in Eighth till the end of his shift, but he asked me to keep an eye out for you,” her eyes narrowed a little, “And to tell you… _be really fucking careful_.”

Stepping away from him, she slipped back through the double doors into the room behind her, leaving Will prickling with low level irritation. He’d been hoping to confront his black-masked companion on his own terms, and now here he was again forced to seek him out in a place of his choosing, in the only room he had yet to explore within the club. And the irony that that last chamber represented the Ninth Circle of Hell; the place reserved for those who had committed acts of treachery against those who had trusted them, was not entirely lost on him. 

The cacophonous noise of the Limbo room was doing nothing to lessen Will’s splitting headache, and what was more it seemed as if they’d installed some kind of strobe-lighting in there, making him feel as if he couldn’t entirely rely on what he was seeing. Squinting his eyes closed against it, he skirted along the wall of the club to the last set of double doors leading off the main room. They were made from the same dark polished wood as all the others had been, but into the surface of these was carved a single giant figure, one foot either side of the divide, straddling the entrance like a Colossus. 

Pushing them open, Will sense of unease was only intensified by the long flight of stone steps, part of what looked like the original building, leading steeply downwards into darkness. At the foot of them, a thin bright line of azure marked the entrance to the ninth chamber, and reaching towards it Will had the unsettling impression that as he did so it moved away, retreating and forcing him to stretch further and further forwards. When his hand finally found it, the surface of the leather inner door felt unexpectedly cold under his palm, the texture of it like chilled meat. He pushed inwards, and the unexpectedly bright illumination of the interior blinded him for a moment. 

For some reason he’d been expecting the ninth chamber to be the smallest and darkest, instead the huge space was flooded with what initially seemed like natural light, but on closer inspection of the vaulted ceiling above was actually created by a series of glass panels that cleverly aped sunlight. Although full of people, the height and breadth of the place was such that it seemed almost peaceful, like a chic modernist church, the effect emphasised by the large circular stained glass window set high into the wall at the rear of the room.

He didn’t have to look far.At the far end of the bar a familiar black-clad figure stood surrounded by a small group of awestruck acolytes, every face upturned toward him like worshippers before a high priest. Clenching his jaw, Will wove his way through the crowd towards them, noting as he did so that his breathing was slower and steadier now that he had the flesh and blood man in his sights again, and not just the mythical figure he struggled to see clearly when he was in the real world. 

Focusing his gaze on his mouth, he found himself asking how he could ever have doubted that this was Hannibal. How much time had he spent in his office watching those lips speak their careful quiet observations, staring at the tiny indentation in the centre of his chin and the sharp line of his nose, rather than into the eyes that seemed able to see to the back of his skull. And how could there be anyone else who could sound like him? The low, even tone that was somehow always audible no matter how many others were talking, the soft, clipped accent that subtly inflected certain words. Less than ten feet from him now, he found he could feel Hannibal’s unique presence as clearly as if he were stood in his waiting room, with the other man poised on the other side of the door about to open it.

“Hello Will.”

Two of his companions had stood aside, leaving a clear line of sight between them, and something inside Will’s chest turned over like an animal stirring in darkness. The noise in the room around them seemed to recede along with the colour, as if some unseen hand had turned down the contrast.

“I heard you were looking for me.” 

A ghost of a smile touched those familiar lips, as he raised the glass of wine he was holding. He paused and inclined his head.

“So here I am. Was there something you wanted to ask?”

Bright amber-brown eyes locked with his, a strand of silver-blond hair fallen forward over his mask. Everything around them was suddenly perfectly and unnervingly still. Will could hear the sound of his own heart in his chest, a slow rhythmic drumming that seemed to move through him to vibrate the floor under his feet. He licked his lips,

“I did, but now I don’t think I need to. In fact, now I’m wondering how I’d managed to convince myself otherwise.”

Hannibal’s lips drew together thoughtfully,

“In my experience, that is the nature of this place. While you’re under this roof, what you know and feel are visceral certainties. It’s only when you leave its sphere of influence that things become…confusing,” an eyebrow arched into a question mark, “Are you confused, dear Virgil?” 

The pulsing vibration through the soles of his feet intensified, and Will wondered why he couldn’t hear the music in the room any more, only feel what must be the bass notes making their way through the stone floor and into his skeleton. No-one was dancing, or at least it didn’t seem as if they were, for some reason he was having trouble dragging his eyes from the other man’s to look around him.

“You don’t seem confused to me.”

Hannibal seemed to have taken a step closer, although he hadn’t seen his feet move. Taking a deep draught from the glass in his hand, he paused for a moment before leaning forward to brush Will’s lips with his own. The touch was feather-light, barely the suggestion of their previous intimacy, and yet his body’s reaction to it was instant and treacherous. Bringing both hands up to either side of the other man’s ribcage, Will dragged him into a hot, open-mouthed kiss that was only deepened when the mouthful of warm spiced wine in Hannibal’s mouth was abruptly transferred to his own. The taste was not unlike that of blood.

“No,” Hannibal’s voice was a murmur in the back of his throat, full of amusement and desire, “Not confused at all I see.”

The hot pulse of Will’s veins seemed as if it should be audible. Sucking the last drops of the wine from Hannibal’s lower lip, he forced a steadying breath. His fingers gripping the fabric of the other man’s black silk shirt flexed, seeming unwilling to let him go.

“Feels like no matter how confused my head gets about what’s happening here, the rest of me finds it easy to make decisions.”

Hannibal’s breath was a warmth flutter against his mouth,

“Felt sensations are often the best indicator of your true desires. While your logical mind is telling you to run, your feet know you better.”

“Oh I don’t want to run.”

The gaze holding his own flickered, the pupils narrowing a little.

“No, I can see that,” his lips moved in again, this time tracing a slow line along Will’s jaw, “Tell me dear Virgil, why are you asking questions you don’t want to know the answers to?”

His mouth had now reached the spot just below Will’s earlobe, the place where he could still feel the phantom traces of teethmarks from the night they’d carved up Aaron Foley, and a deep involuntary shiver passed through him.

“What makes you so sure I don’t want to know the answers?”

“Because you know that answers will mean an end to our game,” his teeth skated skin, and the muscles in Will’s neck tensed under them, “And you don’t want it to end yet.”

“Don’t I?”

His voice came out stronger than he’d imagined it would, and he felt Hannibal’s mouth pause for a moment in its slow advance.

“Maybe I’m tired of games, of playing pretend with you. Maybe I want something real.”

A low chuckle sounded just below his left ear,

“Will, we both know your true reasons for coming here. For continuing to come here. ‘Volto Larva’ is your escape from reality, the dark bolthole you’ve made for when the dreams of mad men become too much,” teeth closed lightly over his earlobe, “And I am the companion you chose for yourself in the darkness.”

Will could feel his body warming under the light touch of the other man’s hands, the familiar heat moving outward through his limbs, and he struggled to focus on his words. Was what he was saying true? Was his recent confusion at Hannibal’s dual role in his life a genuine need for clarity, or just a symptom of the morality he’d always felt a duty to acknowledge, the remnant of a childhood tinted with shame and written over in the Christian values of the family. Surrounded as he was with so much darkness, his need to cling to an idea of decency and normalcy had seemed essential to him in the past, like a lifejacket that prevented him from sinking, but lately it felt like more of a hindrance than an aid. Like the slide into darkness was inevitable. Coming to this place night after night, allowing himself to wallow in physical pleasure, had done that to him, he knew that with a deep certainty. 

Sinking into the heat of Hannibal’s mouth, he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. The pound of blood in his ears suddenly seemed like the beats of a great drum and any trace of coherent thought distant and dim, like muffled voices trapped in a jar. 

“I feel like if we go any further with this, I’ll lose myself.”

Hannibal’s voice vibrated against his throat, “Perhaps instead, you will find yourself.”

And then, without warning, the floor dropped away and darkness engulfed him.

 

∞

 

This time there were no dreams, just a painfully slow crawl out of a mental darkness that felt uncomfortably like a deep hole he’d fallen headfirst into. The first sensations he became aware of were painful, the muscles in his neck ached like he’d been in a car wreck and his mouth and throat felt parched dry, but the next were more confusing. A rigidity in his limbs that felt forced and uncomfortable, then - as feeling begin to return - oddly familiar. 

At first he wasn’t entirely sure whether he was lying or standing, there was pressure on the soles of his feet but the muscles in his thighs and calves were slack and relaxed, then he tried to push himself off the surface he was laid against and realised that he was held securely by his wrists and ankles. Once again, he was strapped into leather cuffs of the St. Andrews Cross, the thick padded restraints holding him face down against it, powerless to do anything but await his fate. 

In the room behind him there was no sound, and straining his senses he tried to hear if there was any noise beyond it. It has been close to the club’s closing time when he had returned to it, and by now it had to be nearing dawn. What if Hannibal had strapped him in and left him for the night, payback for breaking the rules of their game? Pulling at the restraints he considered that it was a very definite possibility, especially considering the fact he’d obviously planned the whole drugged wine thing before he’d even arrived.

The sound of the door opening in the corner of the room pulled his attention to it, and craning his head round, Will tried to see who had entered. In the silence that followed though no face came into view, and all he could hear was quick nervous breathing. Several second ticked by, and then the sound of hasty footsteps across the floor made his whole body stiffen in anticipation of a blow, but to his surprise instead of pain he felt fingers pulling urgently at the straps on his ankles.

“I fucking told you, didn’t I?!”

The voice was instantly familiar, and the tightly held breath left Will’s lungs in a sudden rush. Reaching up to free his wrists, Alex the barman’s handsome face came level with his own, flushed and clearly anxious.

“You need to get the fuck out of here before he comes back. I told you before, he’s _bad fucking news_.” 

He pulled the last strap undone, and put a hand under Will’s arm to support him as he stepped down to the floor.

“I don’t know what your deal is with him, frankly I don’t want to know, but if you’ve got any sense you’ll get the fuck out of here right now, and you won’t look back. You’re not the only one that’s been asking questions about him, and if you want to protect that government job of yours, you’ll get as far from this place as you can.”

Even though Will was standing on solid ground now, the whole room seemed to be shifting, the metal walls undulating as if they were made of liquid, and staring at the movement he frowned in confusion.

“Graham?! Are you listening to me? Did you hear what I said?”

And then Hannibal’s voice from behind him supplied the answer to his question.

“Yes, I believe he did.”

The flat brushed-metal surface of the closed door contrasted starkly with the man stood in front of it. His head inclined slightly, Hannibal appeared like a black bird of prey, the front of the mask he was wearing forming a sharp-hooked beak, and looking at him Will felt a mounting sense of portent. He cleared his throat,

“He was...I think he was just…leaving.”

Alex’s eyes darted to him, the expression first angry and then suddenly unsure.

“I was. I should go,” his body angled sideways, back seemingly still turned protectively in front of Will, “I…look, I apologise if I’ve stepped out of line. I thought…maybe I misread the situation.”

Hannibal’s voice was a low controlled purr, he still hadn’t moved.

“I’d be interested to know what your reading was. Were you perhaps under the impression that this liaison was non-consensual?” his lips curved into the facsimile of smile, “Or that my friend here is anything less than an extremely willing participant.”

Alex’s skin flushed, but even despite Will’s current lack of focus he could see he was now fearful more than embarrassed. His lip curled into a snarl,

“Fuck it, I don’t pretend to understand _anything_ you guys get up to in this place, all I know is I spent almost 3 hours last week mopping blood off the floor in here, and now law-enforcement is coming round after hours, asking me the kind of questions I feel like it’ll cost me my job to answer.” 

His hands spasmed at his sides, and his eyes slid sideways to meet Will’s again, pointed now in their expression, 

“And I like my job. And…you, _Mr. Special Agent FBI Will Graham_? Yeah, I Googled you. Seems like you’re kind of a rockstar over at the FBI Academy. So I’m guessing that you kind of like your job too.”

He wasn’t sure who it was who stepped toward him first, whether it was himself or Hannibal, but maybe they moved simultaneously; the self and the shadow-self in perfect accord, although their movements felt blurred by the dreamlike quality that had hung over the entire evening. Turning Alex to face him, Will rested hands on his shoulders that didn’t feel like his own, made a soft, consoling sound that didn’t sound like anything he would ever make. The look of confusion on the other man’s face lasted for only the briefest of moments, before being replaced by an expression of a wide-eyed shock as fingers spread wide and locked around the column of his throat.

“No. No…don’t…”

Will heard his own voice saying the words, a soft plea to himself or a command to the other man, he couldn’t be sure. Alex’s pupils were blown wide, his shoulders heaving back, struggling against the body of the man behind him, whose hands were…were they his hands? He couldn’t be sure. Sinewed forearms strained from the cuffs of a black silk shirt, but were they his arms or Hannibal’s, Virgil’s or Dantés?He heard himself make the sound again, a soft reassuring shushing noise, shaking his head, firmly denying the reality of what was happening, and over Alex’s shoulder, a pair of bright amber-brown eyes fixed on his with a look of such naked adoration he couldn’t tear himself away.

_“Kiss me Will.”_

As he sought out and found Hannibal’s mouth, Alex’s body between them went rigid with fear, his arms pinned as he struggled against the iron grip of the two men who held him prisoner between them. The heart inside the ribcage pressed against him thrashed wildly, seeming to match the rhythm of Will’s own, as Hannibal’s tongue snaked into his mouth, hungry and insistent. Then, his knees buckling, their captive sank to the floor as their combined weight bore him downwards like two lions felling their kill.

For a moment all three lay locked in a twisted embrace on the floor, muscles straining against rigid muscles and the thick cloying odour of sweat in their nostrils. His bicep locked around the dying man’s neck, Hannibal’s lay pinned underneath his body for a second longer, face flushed and hair clinging damply to his forehead and then, inhaling deeply, he pushed him off to one side. Sitting back on his heels, Will drew several long shuddering breaths into his lungs.

“Is it as you’d always imagined?”

He knew it was Hannibal that had spoken, but the voice seemed to have come from inside his own head at the same time. Looking at him, Will noticed that one side of the black mask he was wearing was broken, the left eye socket cracked and falling away from the face underneath. Blinking in confusion, he tried to understand what it was he was seeing.

“Is…what…?”  


“Taking a life with your own hands. Are you filled with righteous horror?” sitting upright to mirror him, Hannibal’s one good eye regarded him steadily, while the other now seemed to swim in darkness, “Or has it merely revealed the glorious monster you always knew crawled beneath your skin.”

The floor beneath Will’s knees felt as if it were pulsing, taking another deep gulp of air, he laid the palms of his hands on it to steady himself. The surface felt ice cold under his skin, and the sensation was like a knife cutting through the warm fog surrounding him. He allowed one hand to stray out to the side, tentatively reaching to feel for the figure that lay on the floor beside them. 

_Was he real?_

_Jesus, was any of this real?_

_What the fuck had just happened here?_

“I don’t…I don’t feel so good…”

Raising his eyes to look at Hannibal, he felt his heart stammer into a fast uneven rhythm as the other man leant towards him. Tilting his head to one side, his friend brought one bright amber eye level with his own and regarded him steadily. After a moment of silence, he spoke.

“I’m very sorry to hear that Will.” 

His voice echoed hollowly inside Will’s head, the thick seam of disappointment running through it emphasised by the soft, downward curve of his lips. Reaching a gentle hand to his cheek, the other man brushed his cheekbone with the back of his knuckles.

“Perhaps I have pushed you too far, too soon. I’d hoped that given the proper stimulation you might be persuaded to discard the mask you’d constructed, and finally embrace your true self. It seems that integration is still a ways off though. Maybe at a later date. When other factors have been…properly dealt with.”

A frown lightly creased his brow, and after what seemed like a slight hesitation he again brought his lips to meet Will’s in an almost wistful kiss, the other hand lifting to press against his collarbone. Leaning into the kiss, Will felt a deep tremor pass through his body as the other man murmured words against his skin.

“I have so enjoyed your companionship here, dear Virgil. But we always knew it was inevitable we would have to return to the fair world…” 

And the bright, unmistakable sting of a needle punctuated his sentence, bringing darkness with his final words. 

“…and behold the stars."


	10. Postfazione

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will wakes up with a severe case of the morning after, and almost nothing makes sense. Except for the parts that Hannibal wants to.

**** Winston’s cold nose woke him into the golden light of morning. 

He knew instantly that it was him, as none of the other dogs had the shepherd-mix’s confidence and would always wait patiently for Will to rise and feed them, even on the rare occasions that too much to drink the night before made him oversleep. And, blinking at the brightness of the mid-morning sunlight, he had to assume that was just what had happened.  

Rubbing the top of the dog’s soft head, he grimaced as he rolled over onto his side. The pain in his head was a dull ache, that - unusually for a hangover - felt like it extended all the way down his spine, and sitting up in bed his mind fumbled for reference while he searched the pockets of his discarded jeans for his cell. 

Was it even the weekend? The display told him no, a Thursday. So what the hell had he been doing drinking the night before, when he had classes to teach the next day? 

Grimacing, he saw several missed calls from the Academy around the time his first class was due to start, and at least three voicemails he was sure wouldn’t be messages of concern, but thumbed the screen off without checking them. Going AWOL on his students wasn’t his usual style, and he knew he’d probably be forgiven once he explained that…what? He’s slept late because he’d overdone it a little the night before? 

Scrubbing his hands over his face, Will struggled again to remember why that had happened. Had he been working a file, going over the Ripper notes for Jack? The table he normally worked at was bare, save for an empty bottle and glass. Outside, the Volvo was parked in its usual spot. Nothing else felt like a potential hit and, giving up for now, he levered himself off the mattress, let the dogs out and headed into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. 

He’d just dropped some bread into the toaster when he heard his cell start to vibrate on the living room floor where he’d left it. Hesitating for a moment, he walked back through and picked it up. 

_::Jack Crawford::_

Breathing out a sigh, Will swiped the green answer icon as he made his way back through to the kitchen.

“Before you say anything, yes I know I missed my classes this morning. I forgot to set my alarm last night and then I overslept…” he paused, the pain in his neck and head pulsing, “I must have some kind of a virus I think. Anyway, I feel like crap.”

There was a short silence at the other end of the line, and then Jack’s voice replied, unusually soft and careful in its tone.

“That’s not why I’m calling Will,” he cleared his throat, “I’m going to need you to go down to Baltimore this morning and give a statement to a Detective Pratt at Central. There were a couple of deaths at a club down there last night, and one of the vics had your card on him.” 

“I…what?” 

The coffee jug he was pouring from almost slipped out of Will’s grasp,

“Who...? What was his name?” 

Jack’s reply was curt, “Alex Langstrom. A barman at some club off of Market Place.You know him?”

_ An image of Alex’s face swam in front of his eyes, his cheery greeting as he’d approached the bar on the first night at ‘Volto Larva’._

_ Then another fast flash-frame, like something from a dream. Alex with fear in his eyes, his face flushed. _

Will shook his head in confusion,

“Yeah, I mean…he tends bar at a place I’ve been to a few times. Nice guy.”  

“Any idea why he might have your card on him?” 

_Another flash-frame. _

_ This time his own hand sliding the card under the base of a glass, Alex’s face as he looked over at him with a trace of irritation. _

Swallowing the cold saliva in his mouth, Will realised he had no clear memory of when that had happened though, or why, the images seeming disjointed and fractured in his head, like pieces of unconnected puzzles. Realising how worrying that might sound to Jack, he said the first honest thing he could think of.

“After you had me look at that file on Foley that night, I hit a few of the places I thought he might go to. I think I went to ‘Volto Larva’ last.” 

There was another short silence at the end of the line,  

“And did you find him Will?”

“Did I…?”

“Aaron Foley was assaulted in ‘Volto Larva’ that night, carved up with what looked like a fishing knife by - he says - two masked men, neither of whom he can identify. But your buddy Alex Langstrom told BPD he knew one of them. A guy called ‘Malcolm Korda’, he said he thought was a silent partner in the business, although the owner says he never heard of him,” he paused, “You know him too, Will?”

The pain at the base of his skull intensified, and pressing his fingertips into it Will gripped the cell with gritted teeth. 

“I…yeah. I think so. Although, obviously he uh…he wore a mask and…well he never actually told me his name.” 

Jack sighed. He could almost see him at his desk, his eyes rolled to the ceiling as he contemplated the potential shit storm the involvement of one of his agents in a BPD investigation might be about to create. 

“So you couldn’t give a definite ID of the guy if you saw him?” 

Will closed his eyes, conjuring the image of the man he knew as Danté, Korda, Hannibal. All the same man, except when he tried to put them together in his head, lay them one of the other, it never seemed to work. Maybe because he didn’t want it to. 

“No I don't think so, sorry. I’d just be guessing. I only ever saw half of his face. Maybe speak to one of the other staff at the club, they could maybe work on a sketch with someone?”

Switching the cell to his other hand, Will finally poured himself a cup of coffee and without pausing to wait, took a scalding hot mouthful. 

“Maybe the kid who works in the mask room? Zoe? I think she’s been there a while. She might be able to come up with something.” 

Jack grunted, “Already been there. She said she never saw the guy without his mask, said he always turned up already in costume. No, I guess we’re just going to hope we get a hit on his prints, but Malcolm Korda seems to have been an alias.” 

“His prints?” 

“Yeah. Dental is out, according to the coroner he’s originally from somewhere in Europe. Particular kind of amalgam fillings and bridge work, places him from somewhere in Eastern Europe.”

The hand holding Will’s mug fumbled, hot coffee spilling out over the brim into the bare skin of his leg, but for some reason he didn’t feel the pain. Taking a steadying breath, he put the mug back down on the counter.

“So…they have him? Korda? He’s…dead?” 

Jack’s reply was deeply weary and more than a little irritated, 

“Yeah, didn’t you hear me? He’s the second vic. Now can you please get down there and speak to someone in Homicide, before the chief is back on the line chewing me out about this? I’ll let your TA know you’re going to be out sick for the rest of the day.”

 

∞

 

The cops at BPD’s Central Homicide were mostly familiar with Will, he even knew a few of the older ones by first name from evenings spent at crime scenes. Standing together in drizzling rain, drinking bad coffee while a perimeter was being established, tended to form bonds between men, especially when the men in question saw the effect he had on their clearance rates. For that reason, most BPD Homicide cops were usually glad to see Special Investigator Will Graham, a few mildly suspicious, and only one or two openly hostile. It was just Will’s luck that Detective Jake Pratt fell into the last category.

“So…that place a gay pick-up bar? That how you know Alex Langstrom?”

Tapping his pen on the legal pad in front of him, Pratt gave him a tight lipped smile, his eyes wandering over Will’s plaid shirt and then down to the wrinkled khakis he’d pulled on before making the journey. Beside him his partner, an older black guy in glasses, only looked faintly bored.

The anxiety Will had been feeling ever since he’d talked to Jack that morning had been reduced to a simmering twitchy agitation, and he barely registered the fact the other man was trying to bait him. Even so, it was all he could do to stop himself from snapping his answer. 

“I told you. I gave my card out to barmen all over midtown, in case Aaron Foley came in. I didn’t know this guy, except to order drinks from.”

Pratt raised his eyebrows, and after a moment or two made a couple of short notes on the pad in front of him.

“So you didn’t know if he had a thing going with this…Korda? The mystery stiff?”

Will shook his head, not entirely trusting himself to say anything else. After getting off the phone with Jack, he debated with himself for several minutes before calling Hannibal’s number. Both his cell and office number had gone straight to voicemail, and the tight feeling of dread in his gut had instantly increased tenfold. Now, rubbing sweating palms on his thighs, he swallowed thickly and tried to ignore it, doing his best to look like a mildly curious third party.

“And you have Korda’s body downstairs in the morgue?” 

He frowned, as the other detective shot Pratt an ambiguous look, decided to go for it anyway,  

“Mind telling me the cause of death?”

Pratt’s partner, Braugher, steepled his fingers. 

“Mr. Korda’s death _appears_ to have been self-inflicted. We found him hanging from a…structure in the basement of the building.”

Something about his careful use of the word pulled at Will’s interest,

“What kind of structure?”

The older cop and Pratt exchanged glances, before Pratt cleared his throat, his expression appearing to show a mix of irritation and embarrassment. Leaning back in his chair he tapped on finger steadily on the surface of the desk a few times before replying.

“It was uh... it was a tree.” 

 

∞

 

The BPD morgue was very much like the one in New Orleans where Will had first worked as a cop, but the familiarity did nothing to lessen the rising feeling of panic he began to feel as the coroner led him back to the hatch behind which Malcolm Korda’s body was stored. Glancing down at his clipboard, he shook his head.

“I’m not going lie to you. This is a weird one. I’ve actually asked for a consult from one of your guys at the BAU, because there’s a lot that’s not adding up here. The guy’s registered at the club as a gold member, but there’s no picture on file. There was ID in his pocket, but we’ve run his license and Social Security and they’re both fakes. And aside from couple of young kids who work there, no-one seems to have the first clue who he was.”

Breathing deeply, Will tried to concentrate on what the coroner was saying, but found that he couldn’t do anything but stare at the closed hatch with a deep sense of dread. Sighing softly, the older man pulled the locking handle down and rolled out the gurney.

“Add that to the fact that the ligature marks from the rope don't seem to match the ones on his neck, and the estimated time of death makes no sense at all, we’ve got ourselves a regular mystery man.”

The face of the man lying motionless on the slab was strikingly handsome, the sharp angled cheekbones and full mouth beautiful even in death. Smoothed back from his temples, the silver hair was shot through with streaks of gold, and Will found he had to control the the strongest urge to reach out a hand and move away a silken strand that had fallen over the forehead.

“Good looking guy isn’t he?” The coroner looked down at him thoughtfully, “You’d think someone has to be missing him.” 

The tense tight feeling in Will’s stomach that had been there for the last three hours receded like a tide, and chewing on his bottom lip he stepped back from the body with deep outward breath of relief. Pressing a hand to his temple, he opened his mouth to thank the doctor, only to find that a question formed on his lips instead.

“So they think Korda killed Langstrom?”

The coroner cocked his head and smiled in the way that suggested it wasn’t a question he was supposed to know the answer to.

“Langstrom’s skin was all up under this guy’s fingernails, there were scratch marks, hair on both of them. Pretty clear trail of evidence. The thinking seems to be that these two were into some kinky S&M shit in the backrooms at that club, and the fun just got out of hand,” he jerked his pen back toward the fridge, “Then cheekbones here couldn’t live with what he accidentally did to his boo, goes to the basements and offs himself.”

Raising his eyebrows as if to gauge Will's reaction, the older man turned to shove the gurney back into its locker, and latched the door.

“Whole thing wraps up pretty neatly, especially considering this guy and his boyfriend were the number one suspects in an assault on some sleazeball Violent Crimes were being forced to investigate. This way, the whole thing just goes quietly away.”

 

∞

 

It was four days later, as the last of his students were filing out of his final class, that Will saw a familiar figure hovering in the doorway of the lecture hall. Pulling his jacket from the back of his seat, he gave Beverly Katz a crooked smile as he shrugged his way wearily into it.

“Jack send you to check up on me?”

Katz arched a feline eyebrow and folded her arms combatively.

“No, and if he did I’d tell him where to stick it. I’m no-one’s goddamn snitch, not even on that asshole Zeller.”

Shoving a stack of students’ assignments into his bag, Will gave her an appreciative nod.

“Ever a beat cop, Katz?”

Beverley grinned, “Not for long enough you’d know it, but my little sister’s smoked pot for twenty four years and been an asshole for longer, and our mom and dad are still none the wiser. I know something about loyalty. And I know when to keep my mouth shut.”

Unfolding her arms, she pulled a slim manilla file from under her white coat and slid it across his desk towards him. Glancing down at it, Will gave her a questioning look.

“What’s this?”

“My consult report on Malcolm Korda. Thought you’d be interested.”

Her eyes rested on him steadily, 

“Bill Cross told me you came down and saw the body. Said you looked ‘noticeably relieved’ when you saw the guy’s face. I figured maybe you might be able to tell me how a guy whose supposedly been front and centre at frankly _palatial_ downtown nightclub for the last few months, has more than likely been dead for at least a year.”

Will felt a hot flush of warmth stain his cheeks. Beverly’s gaze wasn’t accusatory, but it was demanding. Tapping a fingertip on the folder, she flipped the cover open.

“Ligature marks on the neck consistent with death by strangulation, but definitely not with this rope. Plus the blood was pooled all wrong, his temperature was way off. Cross didn’t have a clue what he was looking at, but lucky for him I think outside the box for a living.”

Her finger drawing Will’s attention downwards, his eye fell on the colour crime-scene image on the top of the file. Korda’s body, dressed in black, mask in place, hung suspended from the branches of a small flowering tree. Which would have seemed so much less odd if the tree hadn’t been growing directly out of the floor in a small underground room.

“Guy had been flash frozen. Not something that’d be easy to spot unless you were looking for it, but his core temperature was so screwy and then, when I got into his liver….ice crystals. The only thing I haven’t been able to figure out is why.”

The blossoms on the tree’s branches weren’t real, but the colour and the shape of the trunk was instantly familiar, reproduced in thousands of biblical illustrations.

“Cercis Siliquastrum.”

“The tree? Yeah. I know. You know its common name?”

Will nodded, a frown creasing his brow,

“The Judas Tree.”

“Uh huh,” Katz mirrored his frown, only hers looked more like concern, “Pretty interesting don’t you think? Guy was frozen and then hung from a tree underneath the Circles of Hell? Only thing that’s missing is the thirty pieces of silver in his pocket.”

Her eyes studied Will’s face for a good long moment, before moving a hand to touch the back of his.

“Will. I know you’d been going there. Your name’s on the membership file, and that asshole Pratt couldn’t wait to tell me his pet theory about how the great Will Graham is secretly some kind of sadomasochist into whips and leather,” she shook her head for emphasis, “And I don’t give a shit about any of that, I just…if you know this isn’t the guy, you need to say something. Because someone choked that barman to death, and it sure as hell wasn’t Judas popsicle Escariot here, or even fucking Malacoda.”

The photo underneath the crime scene one was a standard forensic shot. The span of the dead man’s hand set against a unit of measurement, and stapled to it a second shot of Alex Langstrom’s neck blackened with bruises. Will could see even without studying them that they didn’t match.

“Malacoda?” even as he said the word, he got it.

“Yeah. Oh my god, don’t tell me you hadn’t put _that_ together?” 

Beverly barked a laugh, and she gave his shoulder a gentle slap, 

“Come on Graham, even I got that one, and the last time I read 'Inferno' was in sophomore year. And there I was thinking _you_ were the connections genius.”

 

∞

 

“It literally means ‘bad tail’, although sometimes it’s translated as ‘evil tail’. In my considered opinion though, Malacoda was less evil than merely a temporary hindrance to the travellers. He deceived to achieve a certain end, and ultimately was not a genuine threat to the continuation of their journey.”

Hannibal’s long elegant hands were folded in his lap as they often were as they talked, their stillness always seeming a direct counterpoint to Will’s own innate jitteriness. Looking down at his own hands, Will noted that the tremor in them seemed to have noticeably increased the last week or so, a fact he kept telling Jack was to do with lack of sleep rather than anything organic. Alongside his recent experiences of time loss and confusion though, he found himself wondering how long he could maintain that particular excuse before it began to wear thin.

“I know all that. I mean, I knew it, I just…for some reason I didn’t make the connection between the names. That’s what makes it so strange.”

“Not so strange maybe,” his friend’s smile was warm and engaging, “You met someone you felt you could allow yourself to be vulnerable to, show a side of yourself you normally keep hidden. The Virgil to his Danté. Is it so strange that you chose to collude in your own deception?”

The familiar dove grey of the office walls seemed to shift like clouds behind Hannibal’s head, and Will found his eyes drawn to them for a moment, distracted.

“Collude. That’s an interesting word to use. Therapists sometimes collude, don’t they? When they give their patient what they sense they want, rather than what they need?”

Hannibal’s lips quirked in a smile, a trace of some emotion that could have been amusement or an attempt at chagrin moving across his features.

“I feel that defending myself against the suggestion of such would, in your case at least, be impossible Will. I will confess that my clinical detachment has been put to test more often in our talks together, than in anywhere else in my professional life. And I would be lying if I said that I didn’t personally concern myself with your happiness.” 

The other man’s eyes rested on his for a moment, warm amber-gold, so much lighter in colour than the ones that had watched him from the depths of the black mask.

“Are you unhappy Will?”

“Honestly, Dr. Lecter? I’m not sure I know what happiness feels like any more,” his shoulders twitched involuntarily, “As you may have noticed, I don’t seem to have too firm a grip on reality these days, so identifying what emotions I might be feeling from one day to the next seems like a pointless endeavour. Keeping myself stable, that I know how to do. I get up, I eat, I do my job, I walk my dogs. I come here and talk to you. Maybe adding mind-blowing sex to my routine was just a step too far.”

A flicker in the centre of Hannibal’s eyes was the only reaction to his words, a minute shifting of the size of his pupils that, a second later, Will wasn’t even sure he’d seen.

“Mind-blowing you say?”

Will’s lips curved upwards, his eyelids half-closing for a moment,

_“Transcendent.”_

This time there was something more, a movement of Hannibal’s adam’s apple as he swallowed. Reaching for the glass of water at his side, he sipped from it and wet his lips.

“I imagine you will miss him, this Danté. Tell me, do you feel some sense of loss?”

“For him?” Will’s fingers strayed to the arms of the leather chair, pressing the surface, “I think we both know he’s not really gone. Not dead at least. That guy in the BPD’s morgue, I have no idea who he was, whether he was just some convenient lookalike or whether he _deserved_ what he got, but my guess is that he probably did.”

Hannibal’s eyebrows lifted fractionally, and Will felt as if the room tightened and pulsed around them both as if they were inside a warm body. Leaning forward slightly in his chair, his therapist’s face was a mask devoid of expression, but as he watched them his eyes seemed to spring into living darkness.

“And Alex Langstrom. Did _he_ deserve what he got?”

“Alex Langstrom was a casualty.”

“Of betrayal?”

“Of…love.”

The space between them felt charged with electricity, and for a moment Will swore he could smell a thick familiar scent hanging heavy in the air, lavender and sandalwood, laced through with blood and salt-sweat. The column of Hannibal’s throat stretched before him, muscles corded, the warm golden glow of his skin seeming to call to him, asking for his lips and teeth to bury themselves there. Breathing out slowly, Will dragged his eyes from it and back to Hannibal’s face.

“Sorry. What were we talking about?” he pursed his lips softly, “I’m afraid I don’t feel like myself today Dr. Lecter. I just can’t seem to keep my thoughts straight, none of them, everything’s blurry. Maybe I need a vacation.”

“Or perhaps just a good meal, and a night of uninterrupted sleep?” 

Straightening in his chair, Hannibal’s fingers laced in front of him, and it seemed for a moment that he would reach for Will’s own but then thought better of it.

“The first I can certainly help with. The second must be your responsibility.”

“Tonight?”

“If you have no other plans for the evening?”

Will’s lips parted, a reply reconsidered caught behind them.

“I don’t,” he smiled, “Will it just be us? Is casual attire acceptable?”

Hannibal’s answering smile was mild and free of innuendo. Walking Will to the door, he opened it and laid a hand lightly in the small of his back.

“You’re welcome in my home in whatever you choose to wear Will,” he paused, his gaze openly sliding down the length of his body, “although I must confess to an appreciation of some of your more recent acquisitions, over flannel and plaid.”

“The black?”

“The black. As I think I told you, it suits you well.”

Hannibal’s lips parted, flashing the glint of sharp teeth and Will felt the muscles in his neck tighten at the sight. And if his skin could have trapped and held all of the moans and sighs uttered against it, he knew his had and would always remind him of them, tempt him with memories he couldn't trust every time he looked too long at Hannibal Lecter’s mouth.

“It seems that darkness becomes me.”

Hannibal’s smile sharpened, widened, and it was a dangerous beautiful thing to behold.

“It certainly does, dear Virgil. It most certainly does.”

 

# è finito

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there!! So I finally finished this thing!! I feel both relieved and kind of sad, because I've dreamt and sleep-written it for almost 2 months now, as well as composed a [Pinterest Board](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/lawturley/volto-larva/) and assorted graphics to help me with the process. Thank you to everyone who read and pimped and helped me feel good about this story, I'm still edging my way back into writing fic and this one has been a learning curve to say the least.
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> Please read my other stuff! And subscribe! Oh and please comment, even if it's just to say 'kudos'. I basically eat, sleep and breathe your feedback while I'm writing. It's my coffee when I get up in the morning, and the snacks I use to sustain myself when RL gets too much. \- TA x

**Author's Note:**

> _Like this fic? Please consider commenting on it and making my day! And if you _ **really**_ wanna show some love, come follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Treacle_A) or on my [Tumblr](http://treacle-a.tumblr.com/), where I also makes Hannigram Manips for my [Insta](https://www.instagram.com/hannigrammanips) of the same name!_


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